Site icon Alexander Hammil

It is All the River

It has been raining for four days and four nights. Not continuously, but for an hour or two, and then, it may be, not for twenty or thirty minutes at a stretch. In my experience it is a rare day indeed when even bad weather is truly constant. The water has risen from behind the doors of the earth, and stretches across what were fields and lowlands. My house stands on a hill, unnoticeable when the ground is dry, but enough that now I am an islander, after all. The houses around me for a good mile have at least their basements flooded.

A trailer has just gone floating by. I suppose it comes from the park to the south. I wonder who it belonged to, where they are staying now. A dog stuck his head through the door and barked when the crows landed on it. Poor thing. He was very thin. I do not think it will be long before he does not bark at the crows. I am tempted to rescue him… No, it is better this way. There is no telling how long the flood will last, and I have so little food as it is. Then, too, I have no boat, and the water is sore cold.

There were so many boats yesterday, little rubber yellow things, heaped with people. They all went drifting by, and I went out on the porch for the first time in nearly six months to watch them. The water was up to the bottom step. The horse head of the hitching post stuck above the water, just barely. A boy waved at me. I think it was a boy. It is hard to tell in a raincoat. I waved back. The town has been evacuated, I suppose. I do not know if they will come back for me. The radio is out, the television is out, the internet is out. I am cut off from the world.

The power has gone out. Luckily I have enough candles, so many candles. How did I get so many candles? The ice box should stay cold enough for at least a week. It is nice, to sit here in the candlelight, so organic, and listen to the rain falling.

I hope they come back for me.

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