Like a cold cloud descending onto the tongue. House Gutter. Splashing down on cement basin. What I as a child would have imagined pure rain should taste like, without the acid. Purity. Lots of it. Something plunges, maybe even into my nose, like I went down a water fall and got dunked into cold water. Cooling. Skim milk. Not at all heavy. Broad in its electrolyte flavor, swings over the tongue. There’s a richness to it, drying wood, while still being light. A slight bitter metallic or graphite finish, chains along into a prickly, lightly sizzling, just barely minty and medicinal end.