The sun’s setting over the mountains when J.D. and I wander onto a grassy knoll, our hands full of cherries we found growing on a tree near the spring. We lean back against the gentle slope, gazing at the sky. He nudges my shoulder and points to a bank of clouds moving across the horizon.

“What do you see?”

I know this isn’t a question about the chemical properties of clouds or atmosphere. It’s strictly non-scientific. He’s inviting me to participate in an ancient pastime I’ve only read about, cloud watching. Since the four of us have made a decision not to delay the next stage of our journey, I may never get another chance.

Thoughtfully, I study the white formations. They’re beautiful, miraculous. Maybe I’ll always want to weep at the sight of them, but that would be a waste of good water. I want to be done with tears, and the day is too beautiful for them anyway. Nevertheless, I consider my tears for a moment, the idea of them, a link to the earth’s ancient origins. I’m comforted by the notion that I carry a bit of the sea within myself wherever I go. It’s nice to think that water is not such an exotic thing after all.

Returning my focus to the high cumulus confections above me, I ponder my answer. This is a new experience for me and I want to do it right. Finally, I make up my mind.

“There’s a grasshopper,” I say, pointing to a bug-like apparition that makes my stomach growl. “And that one is a horse, with its foreleg raised.” I’ve never actually seen a horse, but we had a picture of one on the wall at the Garner Home for Girls. “And the shape above that…” I shudder slightly, but quickly suppress it. After all, the clouds are not a psychological test designed to uncover my personal fears and obsessions. Shoving away unpleasant memories, I turn to J.D. with a smile. “That is a man with a mustache.”

He follows my finger and nods at my answer. “I see him,” he says. He catches my eye and gives me a crooked grin. “He looks funny, doesn’t he?”

I laugh and lay back, rubbing shoulders companionably with J.D. as we watch the clouds shift and change. The man with the mustache becomes a cat with whiskers, then a hot air balloon, then nothing at all.

A few weeks later, J.D. and I, along with Tuck and Tamara, exit the garden and quietly enter the tunnel. Our canteens are filled with spring water. We have made fresh trail mix out of nuts and dried fruit and wrapped packages of treats for our journey. In addition, Tamara and I have gathered seeds of living things to plant when the time is right, in a place where I can provide the water.

Our backpacks are overflowing.

“I’m used to traveling light,” Tuck says, grunting, shifting his heavy pack awkwardly across his shoulders.

“Don’t be a baby,” Tamara teases. Then she’s silent, the word ‘baby’ reminding her of who is not with us.

I touch her hand lightly and can feel her smile in the dark beside me. She’s getting better. We all are stronger now because we have been rejuvenated by our encounter with nature the way it can be, green and sustaining.

We catch a glimmer ahead of us and pick up our pace. It’s not that we are eager to leave. It’s that we are eager to begin this work we’ve chosen. We are eager to travel, no matter the danger, if it means finding a way to make things better. I am eager to make water. But we have all agreed we must be careful. The delivery of water must be strategic, but it must also appear to be random, so our movements cannot be anticipated. Always, we must look out for each other, ensuring the safety of our ragtag little group and others we may meet along the way.

Back on the mountain, outside the tunnel walls, J.D. pulls me aside and hands me something. Curious, I look down to see a soft block with a carving on one end. He opens a small container filled with bright pink dye.

I can’t hold back a laugh. “How did you do this?”

“Cherries, ground with rose hips and lavender. I added mint to activate the alkaloids, a little plant fixative and metal salt to set the color.”

“Wow.” I’m impressed. I can’t help but wonder what other knowledge J.D. possesses that’s still unknown to me. Carefully, I take the carved end of the block and place it into the dye. Finding a protected place in the rocks outside the tunnel entrance, I make my mark, then step back to admire J.D.’s handiwork. “It’s perfect.”

“Do you think we’ll ever come back here?” Tuck asks.

I pocket my new stamp as J.D. caps the dye container. “If our plan works, maybe we won’t need to come back. Maybe it’s enough just to know it’s here.”

Somberly, I take a deep breath and turn to the others. “It’s going to be hard, you know.”

“Anything that matters usually is,” Tuck says, winking good-naturedly.

Even knowing it’s going to be hard, I have a good feeling about what we’re trying to do. Maybe because I know I’m not alone. I have my friends with me and that makes all the difference.

J.D. adjusts his packs, squints up at the setting sun then looks at each of us in turn. “Are we ready?”

“Let’s go give the people water,” I say.

Tamara shakes her head, eyes gleaming. “Even better, let’s go give them hope.”