At least when I walked the Tysfjord,
My struggle was up,
And awkwardly I won.
The water I drank was clean.
It had a fallen from the sky
Through fire and ice.
It was purified and perfected.
It fell in big white drifts of snow
And melted in the spring
And met me at my thirst.

And now on my way down,
The water is muddied from me clowning around upstream.
My battle is to descend,
And graciously I lose,
And like the sodden waters I caused,
I meet me at my worst.

-jenn