Swaths of heavy rain, a remnant of Hurricane Earl, passed through last night and early this morning. Torrents were streaming down the street, and now the river is running high and brown. You could probably kayak down to the next dam right now without bottoming out. Wet and bedraggled goldfinches are hanging off the sodden thistle feeder as if they had just been waiting for the rain to let up. The sounds of rain, a rising wind in the leaves, and the rushing river blend to fill the air with a living, breathing swoosh, a constant backdrop as we go about our usual morning ablutions, safe and dry here inside the house.
Ash tree sways, dripping,
above the swollen river:
hurricane season.
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