SPRING STORM
Spring Storm Yesterday I burned the toast so I went down to the rapids. It was not a bright morning. Close to shore a small twig spun on an eddy. The eddy was frilled like a doily, and seethed. The twig was helpless to go anywhere except around and around. On the horizon plumes of smoke rose like poplar trees. There was the sun, punched into the sky like the sky's navel. The river, pricked and lifted by windhooks. Mist puffing up, the sky black then white. Columns of air I could have walked like pathways to waiting jets, walked into the skyhold. I'm telling you: then the river reared up like a dragon, scales flapping, the sun, smoke, the far faint islands, all collapsed in the froth of its lashing. I had never been so small, atomic. I was tossed. I have to say "maelstrom." I wanted out. I wanted time to turn back. When I felt the ground again I was shaking. It seemed I could reach in any direction and t