Before my hand lies a bottle of "Ice Mountain" spring water. Bubbles gather along the curved edges near the rim after being tossed from hand to hand. These bubbles barely can even constitute as bubbles. A bubble floats free in the surrounding, surviving outside of its container, yet still fragile as an anemic blood cell. No. These bubbles are conspirators of the water. They strive in water's presence and yearn for him to stay for as long as possible. Without water, the bubbles perish. I take the top of the bottled water. A swig of the lukewarm substance glides down my throat. The bubbles have passed away. Passed away? No. Died.
I wonder how the bubbles at the absolute bottom of the container came alive. Not present. No. Alive. They arose from somewhere. But how? The shaking only spurred their brevity to hold on to their longing "breaths" of life. Can it be possible that the other bubbles died in order to form a new bubble at the bottom? From what was nothing came something? .
From all the pondering about mini-Jesus" in the form of a bubble hurts my frustrated mind. The colors of the bottle catch my attention. Within the label, the mischievous label, only three colors exist: red, white, and blue. Subconsciously, the manufacturers pump into the minds of the consumers that American water stands proud and tall among the rest. If anyone was confused about where the great taste of the tasteless water came from, they should know subconsciously the "true answer.".
A label tells a lot about anything. Names, products, numbers, location. "Bottled on source in Rodney, MI." Have the manufacturers confused a trash mound or curving knoll for a mountain in Michigan? Clouds line the edges of the three mountain peaks on the label, yet struggle to make it past the top. The United States barely contains many mountains besides the grand Rocky Mountains. Wow. Michigan has really grown since I've last been.