A cool summer afternoon, hugging an old friend on her 60th birthday, noting her as yet unfaded beauty and her slight discomfort at the party arranged for her by her sister.

At the quiet flowers-on-the-tables event, I stood and made small talk, conversing with folks previously unknown to me. Such gatherings cause me to marvel at the human capacity to connect with others, that thing which pushes us forward, makes it all worthwhile.

Having said that, however, I have bad news "| the end is near. Trust me on this. I've done some preliminary research and my conclusion feels right, although you won't see me holding up a placard on a metropolitan street corner, parading back and forth long-bearded and be-robed, warning of doom.

After a two-year drought and after a whole bunch of idiotic misuse and mismanagement dating back decades, the once-mighty Euphrates River is turning into a fetid trickle of warm sewer water. In short, it's drying up.

The Euphrates begins its 1,700-mile journey in Turkey, meanders through Syria, and then washes straight through the heart of Iraq on its way to the sea near Kuwait.

"So what?" you may well ask. Pay attention now.

Here's the deal: in Chapter 16 of the Biblical Book of Revelation it was written that a loud voice from the temple said to the seven angels, "Go and pour out on the earth the seven bowls of the wrath of God." It seems God was fed up with mankind, an emotion we've all had occasion to experience.

Anyway, by the fourth angel God was causing the earth to heat up "| think global warming here "| and soon thereafter, "The sixth angel poured out his bowl on the great river, the Euphrates; and its water was dried up." Soon afterwards the "kings of the world" gather at "the war of the great day of God, the Almighty," a place called Armageddon.

Uh, oh. There it is. When the Euphrates dries up, we're toast.

It doesn't seem possible that rivers can dry up and that water can be scarce. Up the Mississippi River about 30 miles from my place is something in the entertainment business known as a "water park." It's a place of gushing, rolling, spraying waters, a place that celebrates our excesses in grand form. Millions of gallons of clean water are used every year so that Junior can squeal in delight at being swept down a plastic slide while Dad gambles away his paycheck at the casino next door.

Which they tell us is OK because a portion of what Dad loses ends up in the coffers of local nonprofit agencies. And you wonder at who thinks these things up, not knowing whether to admire their brilliant audacity, or whether to simply shake your head at the perversity of such arrangements. And those are just the monetary losses. Dignity took a hike long before Dad landed at the blackjack table. Don't get me started.

Let's see, where was I? Oh yeah, the Euphrates River and the seventh angel. Angel No. 6 is hovering overhead even as we speak and I'm counting on the good folks of Turkey, Syria and Iran to reverse what will clearly be the death of a once mighty river. Otherwise angel No. 7 shows up, after which God says, "It is done."

One needn't be a Biblical scholar or even slightly prescient to know the meaning of, "It is done." But then perhaps this is all foolishness and the death of a river is no more than what it is.

In a world wherein we celebrate walks on the moon alongside the silliness of Facebook, all things seem possible. Turn a problem over to a few clever people and "Voila!" we're saved. It's what we've come to believe, despite ever-growing evidence to the contrary.

And the fate of the Euphrates? Have I mentioned the end is near?

Ullrich, a free-lance writer, lives near Maquoketa, Iowa.