Out in the scrub land,
surrounded by sage,
dry dust,
and a jackrabbit or two,
runs an old sulfur spring.

The water that oozes
from the alkaline soil
is slightly warm,
thick,
somewhat bitter tasting.

It’s not what a traveler
would normally choose,
but given the choice
between that and death,
in a pinch,
it will do.

She knows the path
to the sulfur spring well.
She’s trodden it many times.
It’s not hard to get to.
It’s well worn.
She can see the trail
in her sleep.
There’s not
a lot
else to view.

She knows the spring’s taste is
slightly off,
but she’s so familiar
with that path,
so smooth and easy,
and with the warm,
bitter water,
she finds it hard
to change.

“I’ve been here so often,”
she explains.
“And the taste isn’t
THAT bad.”
“You get used to it.”
“And it doesn’t take
much
effort.”

High on a mountain top
runs a cool mountain spring.
Fed by glacier melt
and late-developing snow storms,
its droplets struggle
through layers of limestone
which trap and remove
impurities.

The water which rises
and touches thirsty travelers
is breath-taking in its freshness
and purity
and crisp coolness.

Breath-taking
like the view
travelers get
from hiking there.
So much to see.
So much to appreciate.
“That drink,
and that view” people say
“makes it worth the effort.”

He offers
to take her
to that spring.
“Leave your well-worn path!”
he says.
“Struggle with me,
and try something new.”

She thinks about it,
for a moment.
But she’s so used
to the path!
So comfortable there!

He watches her go,
little dust devils
nipping at her heels
as she walks,
and walks,
and walks.

Pioneer
afraid to leave
comfortable trails.

He turns,
heart glad
from the vistas
before him,
yet sad.

He misses
that she is missing
what she is missing:
The sunset here.
The gold-painted peaks.
The crisp pine scent.
The cool, pure
naturally-filtered water.

He kneels
again
by the mountain spring,
and fills his canteen.
Then he fills
one for her,
for when she changes
her mind.