Song of the Waters

Far as man can see, Comes the rain, Comes the rain with me.

From the Rain-Mount, Rain-Mount far away, Comes the rain, Comes the rain with me.

O'er the corn, O'er the corn, tall corn, Comes the rain, Comes the rain with me.

'Mid the lightnings, 'Mid the lightnings zigzag, 'Mid the lightnings flashing, Comes the rain, Comes the rain with me.

'Mid the swallows, 'Mid the swallows blue, Chirping glad together, Comes the rain, Comes the rain with me.

Through the pollen, Through the pollen blest, All in pollen hidden, Comes the rain, Comes the rain with me.

Far as man can see, Comes the rain, Comes the rain with me. (Navajo) I am a drop of water, so tiny you can hardly see me with your naked eye. Yet, I am everywhere even within you.

I am part of every bone and muscle of every living creature upon this earth. I am one with the soil and the trees, the clouds, and every shower that falls from the sky, each snowflake and stream rushing down to the sea, and of the sea itself.

I am changing and, yet, unchanged. What I become I have been countless times a life cycle within life cycles until the end of time.

But there was a beginning for me. When the earth began to cool after its fiery birth, when all the earth was molten rock, hot, dead and enshrouded in a white blanket of vapor. That was my beginning.

In time, the vapor condensed and fell as rain, and the rain became seas and mixed with the free chemicals of the earth to produce... life.

Countless more eons rolled on and the rock was crushed and ground up to become the first soil, to nourish higher and still higher forms of life. And I was there and played my part. continued page 15

(Left) Sun-etched cumulus clouds rise to eerie heights in a dome of deep blue.

(Below) Growing clouds mass and a curtain of grey rain obscures the far horizon and the whole world takes on a new look. Photographs by Al Abrams (Right) In the humid August stillness summer rainclouds build above a Joshua tree forest. Josef Muench

WATERS from page 10

And then you came, dependent on me and my kind just as all other forms of life. But, unlike them, you, with your large brain and opposing thumb, would make over the earth to suit your liking.

Civilization would evolve and, with my help, agriculture, commerce, industry and art would become your playthings.

So, in a sense, you might say that civilization evolved largely because of me and those like me.

Yet, because I am so common, you, the heir as well as the product of this civilization, are more than likely to take me for granted and forget me.

No? Well, then, answer me this: do I ever come to mind when you take a sip of cold refreshing water, or when you shower? When your clothes pop fresh out of the washer do you think of me? Or am I in your thoughts when your garden blooms, or when clouds form, or a rainbow?

Chances are that, if I ever come to your mind at all, it is only when there is a shortage of me, and drought plagues the land; when the plumbing is out of order, or when the beaches are closed.

Yes, I am only a drop of water. But, remember, the earth itself would not have been without me, and then where or what would you be?

(Left) High above the desert invisible water vapors mass to create a threatening August thunderhead. David Muench

(Right) The river, offspring of countless inundations, is neither the conclusion nor the beginning of water's tale but a cycle within endless cycles. Salt banks along the Fort Apache Indian Reservation. Josef Muench (Below) Deep wells tap ancient reservoirs beneath the earth, where precious water has slowly accumulated for hundreds of centuries. Josef Muench

(Left) '... and the rock was crushed and ground up to become the first soil . . . Oak Creek Canyon. David Muench (Right) Hills of massive granite monoliths, worn by ages of wind, sand and water, become a reflecting pool for a spring flood. Granite Dells near Prescott. Gill Kenny (Below) In the timeless vastness of a hidden canyon the ages old task of evolution goes on. Canyon Creek, Salt River Canyon. Gill Kenny

(Far left) One of the desert's small miracles on Sabino Creek near Tucson. David Muench (Left) Nature's ambrosia. Water droplets, heavy bellied, form on the leaves of a creosote bush. Gill Kenny (Below) The gatherings of a hundred mountain rain storms begin the long journey to lower elevations at the headwaters of the Black River in the White Mountains. David Muench (Following panel, pgs. 24-25) A watery bridal veil of lacy white spills over into emerald pools of travertine at Havasu Falls. Dick Dietrich

(Left) Bringing life to the arid land requires the use of irrigation canals many of which were originally dug by the Hohokam Indians centuries ago. Dave Davis (Right) Storm run-off water becomes a rich resource for thirsty livestock on this ranch near St. Johns. Wayne Davis (Below) Mountain majesty and lush meadow meet at Lee's Ferry on the Colorado River. Ed Cooper

(Left) A moment of meditation beside a quiet pool of deep, clear water on Sabino Creek, near Tucson. David Muench (Right) Water means summer recreation, too, especially for the children of the desert. Darwin Van Campen (Below) 'The Great Colorado Inner Tube Race' ... not the stuff for romantic poets, perhaps, but great fun all the same, especially on a scorching hot day. Bill Brennan