This river is normally a small creek.

Last night coming home from a free Rounders gig at the Senior Center in a blinding rainstorm I came within a hair of being washed away down Howell Creek when I drove into deep water before I knew it. I was a hundred yards from the creek bed on what I thought was a level section of road, but I was disoriented by the rain, the lightning, and the sets of headlights coming toward me. I didn’t realize the creek had come out if its banks, and the headlights were of cars that had turned around and were trying to escape. Still not exactly sure what saved me, except I was lucky to keep the engine running as I fought the current and the wake churned up by the passing cars, the last one of which threw a wave of muddy water over the car’s hood. By then I couldn’t tell where the street was except a little ahead I saw a street sign, and so I kept going until I could turn into the side street. The water was as high but the current less,  and I kept on, with engine coughing and clutch slipping and unidentified debris clunking away at the undercarriage, until I gradually worked my way free. It was another two hours before the water receded on all the roads enough for me to get home in Sarah’s truck. I left my car in town, because there was still water over some roads, and no way to tell which or where. Exciting night, but not one I’ll want to repeat soon. The odd part, if we forget my longtime addiction to adrenaline, is that I wasn’t a bit scared when it was happening. I was too busy telling myself to focus, focus and find the next thing to do. It’s only afterward that I replay that wave coming over the hood and up the windshield, and realize how close I came to deeper waters than I’m ready to try.

Easter blessings, good friends. It’s a new day in this old world. And it’s lovely to be here.