With flooding in the forecast here along the Grand River on Abrigador Trail, I have a special appreciation for this poem.
"High Water Mark"
It's hard to believe, but at one point the water rose to this
level. No one had seen anything like it. People on rooftops.
Cows and coffins floating through the streets. Prisoners
carrying invalids from their rooms. The barkeeper consoling
the preacher. A coon hound who showed up a month later
forty miles downstream. And all that mud it left behind. You
never forget times like those. They become part of who you
are. You describe them to your grandchildren. But they think
it's just another tale in which animals talk and people live
forever. I know it's not the kind of thing you ought to say...
But I wouldn't mind seeing another good flood before I die.
It's been dry for decades. Next time I think I'll just let go and
drift downstream and see where I end up.
We are big-time recyclers (and, cyclers!), not just recycling our throw-aways, but giving away what we cannot use and using things others don't want. This space is for recycling words: quotes and material we find in books and magazines and other sources. Posted by your river-rat recyclers, Ruth Tucker and John Worst.
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