From the safety of higher ground we see houses sinking as the water rises, steadily, stealthily—wild currents untamed by the banks they break, the walls they breach. Warm springs fill houses that no longer protect but entomb as water flows through windows—glass gone, bars blocking any escape.
Floods can be an overflow of water or an outpouring of tears. These are images of the river’s fullness and the heart’s despair. We come from water. We are made of water. And in the end, water not earth will take us.