Telling: Streams & Logs


The wind and the rain

The rain promised for the afternoon, arrives before I wake. I stand at the window watching for floods, thinking how sweet it is to live at the crest of a hill. The depressions fill and overflow. Everything is running. We are curtained in laughter.

Watt comes in wearing his boots and his bother. He looks out at the trees, the soggy ground, and speaks the word wind, introducing what is not, into the quiet.