Rain continues its fall from grace,
swollen rivers rise proportionately
and we cringe at the thoughts
of having to leave our homes;
folks pack their trucks with treasures
leaving most memories behind,
while the more clever ones
paddle around town in canoes;
birds sit on rotten branches of dead trees,
not expecting a break from the deluge,
watching without emotions the fleeing families,
fleeing themselves when the tree limb breaks;
a rustic, rural, rainy afternoon betrays
the Rockwell solitude that created this
valley and for years left it unspoiled;
a sad face the sun would have, if it were
to peer out from behind those clouds, but
only time will fix what nature destroys.
July 12, 2012
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