From watering the plants of spring into blossoming summer. From the blistering heat of July, rises thistles and nestles in the fields. At the still wind, is also an equal stilled water, the Dead Cold Water from the sink. Which promising stories will this water that one can imagine being dead, of no life of no reason to think it can nurture the thuja in the wood beds. Cold and seemingly not harmful, it is and can be deceiving. Water that is the reason to live and a desiring liquid which in all its content and form shapes hope and yearns to be in reach. Of being pure and a source to cleanse ones abdomen of toxic waste. A liquid so serene and so mysterious, can from this sink is especially of Dead Water Conundrum a spectacle of which has not been allured. Since Ogdoads of its primordial state and of Chronos its fluctuation and timeless guise between Cosmos and Chaos and in the sky, in the wind and in the asters we spot Anu, Enlil and Enki in their divine dance of elemental fluidity.