I rise up from the mud after the flood. I am gray and twiggy with it, bound and rooted, laughing. That was, oh, that was fun. The Wellspring watches me, clucks, indulgent. I step in under her flow. The Wellspring's fountain showers me clean, simple, small. I climb her, spiraling, flicking off surfaces, arms and elbows, forehead, crown. I am the glint that flashes off the edge of things, rock face, branch, leaf.

I am spark. I am glimmer. I am glad.