Are We There Yet?

Yesterday, August 28th at 2pm, I listened from my window to the water rushing below us along the Whetstone Brook. The dog was aching to get out into the storm, so I pulled on my raincoat and headed for the door. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw as we loped down Crosby St. in a veil of steady rain. What we call a brook was now a raging river. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Bear did her business and we hurried back up the hill to the house. There, Stephen and our friend Rita (rescued from her own flooded home in Guilford) both jumped from their chairs to see something "really amazing...you have to come now!" Back we went, down the hill, along with other small groups of curious neighbors. Before you could even see the water, you heard it. The roar of water crashing over the banks up into the steeply wooded embankment was awesome. Halfway down the hill, we stopped and gawked as a large tree was dislodged from its purchase on the bank and thrown like a toy into ...

I have no idea why the mockingbird sings, but I'm going to go out on the limb with that bird and say that I think they're crazy birds. They're going great guns, creating their wacky symphony of sound at 3am...at 6am...at8pm! The small grey bird that has set up a home at the corner of our patch (in the spindly Scotch pine) has determination. And there was a moment...when I thought... yes, I could kill a mockingbird. That's not to say that I don't appreciate their amazing range. His song is so varied that sometimes I am only sure it's him because of the tone of his song. (Can you say tone of voice about a bird?) The song is sure and clear. Enthusiastic is how I can best describe this little guy. But I'm tired! The mockingbird isn't the only creature competing for attention in our little neighborhood. We have the dog next door, a sweet and gentle pup who spends most of her time outside on a chain. Everything makes her excited. Everything. She barks with j...

2:20p The sun has arrived for a short visit. Dark clouds gather over Marlboro and the slender threads of light pierce through atmosphere heavy with moisture. We swim through the woods in this heady oxygen rich landscape. The leaves have grown fingernail sized and pale translucent green to dinner plate sized dark green shade for the lush canopy above me. The woods are spongy with water. Trees are giving up their purchase in the soil, first leaning against their neighbors and then, finally, falling to the ground. Huge and full of life. Not diseased just overwhelmed by water. I get that. I am overwhelmed too. We all are. People have left their rain boots and coats in the back hall. We have given into the wet on our collars and the fine fringe of damp in our hair. What's a little dampness at this point? We are all comrades in this gathering of clouds settled over our heads. The Mountain is obscured. And everywhere there is the noise of rushing water. Water runs racing to the rive...