When I was younger, I read When Legends Die for school. I ended up really loving it, even though I still have yet to finish the last chapter or so.

I recall certain parts with astounding clarity. Or at least the mental images the words created. A specific part of the book I remember is the boy bathing in the lake in the darkness of the early moning. I was reading it, and I could almost feel the cold chill of the black water in it's pre-day, placid grace. A refreshing breath of life to start the day. And I remember feeling a cool cacoon of delight enveloping my body upon imagining the sensation. It was spirituality in its untainted form. It was wondrous.

It was around then that I started taking cold showers. I'd start off with warm water. I'd wash my body, then I'd turn the heat all the way up. So hot that my skin turned crimson and the water felt cold before it burned me. And I'd leave it like that for a few moments before abruptly turning off all the hot water. Ice dripping down my flesh, it was glorious and I did it all the time.

I rarely bother with warm water, now. I start out with tepid and it only gets colder. I love it. I wakes me up and makes me feel alive. And sometimes, it's like skinny dipping on the shore of an Alaskan glacier. Not everyone's cup of tea, but I love it.

One day, I'm going to wake in the woods and sing the Morning song while I bathe openly in the brisk waters of a lake...a stream...anything. That goal will be met.

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