Dry skin shrivels into minuscule canyons between veins and wrinkles, aging my hands decades beyond the years they’ve earned. A pinched spot eases back into place, confirming my need for water.  I drink the last drop from my glass, but my flesh will soon crave more.

Just outside, noon rays crisp each blade of yellowed grass. Blooms fail and birds hide from the perilous heat. A parching climate cracks and peels away the velvety surfaces of life, sharpening once-gentle touches. Earth itself buckles under an oppressive lack of moisture.

Creation struggles with thirst, an unquenchable need for daily sips of heaven-sent life. The world cannot drink its fill and rest in sustained wellness. Again and again, it must receive what it cannot give itself.

Substitutions and corrupt waters fail. Though flavorful to some, they can neither yield crops nor replenish tissue. The deadly risk of dehydration haunts our planet, and a…