I find the biggest flask—an Erlenmeyer—a word I learned in sixth grade and liked so much I kept it in my head, and go down to the trickle of water I landed in the day before. It’s higher now, with a pushing strength from yesterday’s rains that threatens to take the flask from my hand if I don’t hold on tight. I clean it out as best I can, shoving a leaf down inside and using a stick to scrub it around, little bits of scum floating free in the water as I work. It’s as clean as it’s going to get, and anything else I do would be procrastination, pure and simple.
