The Beast
We drove through Hunt and Ingram on our way home Sunday. The power of water was on full display. The cliffs were washed clean, and only the biggest trees remained standing beside the river. The works of man were ravaged, too. Cars beaten flat sat beside the road. Houses emptied or swept away dotted the landscape. The slate was wiped clean and it was difficult to see what stood where.
We went because we had both been to the River Inn on many occasions at the invitation of friends who have a place there. There was a wedding, social gatherings, and the friends gathered both of us in their arms for a visit after our wives died. I have a cherry tree growing in my back yard from a seed I gathered on my visit back in 2020. Luckily, none of the memories were washed away.
As we drove we talked of other floods. I suffered one in 2006 when a bayou rose, and we both had camped beside rivers when high water came. We talked about what we did and what we’d do. And we reminded ourselves that nature can go from calm and soothing to a slathering beast in a heart beat, and when it does the works of humans bow in submission. And it reminded me of the line in Bob Dylan’s song, Highway 61 Revisited, when Abraham questions the command to kill his son, and God says, "You can do what you want, Abe, but the next time you see me comin', you better run."