After the deluge (drought journal)

Last night, in the middle of the storm, the power flickered, and went out, so we did everything by firelight. Just like in the old days—except we had no candles or kerosine lamp, just the harsh blue LED lights that made everything seem colder, despite the fire in the wood-stove.  My cousin’s police scanner squawks like a parrot reveling in pure pandemonium, Accidents everywhere. A car was whacked by a pine tree on Sor Francis Drake by the abandoned golf course. Across the counties, the creeks rose with a vengeance, as the deluge punched us down like dough in the bowl. On my way to work, to teach kids poetry in Mill Valley, we are down to one lane as the roadbed gave way in the middle of the night. What becomes the Fairfax Creek has taken out a chunk of Sir Francis Drake and everywhere you look, all the garbage cans are askew, they look like they have lost in a colossal game of kick the can. Downed trees branches, mother nature‘s roughshod pruning service at the ready, has us slaloming the roads like drunkards. In San Rafael, even the flood signs are flooded. The streets are canals, meanwhile the San Rafael Canal is at maximum tide and it is a huge mirror reflecting the sky and overpass. The inlet is challenging the embankments all up and down the coast, a king tide. New alluvial fans in the making, are fanning out like fan dancers up and down the highway. Meanwhile, the sky is an innocent blue with darling puffy clouds as if to say what’s the big deal? Calm after the storm. Drainage ditches along the bay that haven’t seen any water in years, perhaps even decades, are suddenly mirrored snakes weaving their way through the laced landscape. The end of the drought.