MountainMornings

may came home with a smooth round stone

as small as a world and as large as alone

for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)

it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

Can you guess the poet? Our hearts go out to the people in the flood plains of the mighty Mississippi. Through marriage, we have cousins living in Vicksburg. But we live near the upper fork of the Rivanna River, which is overflowing its banks and running fast to the James and then on to the ocean.

The Saint of Lost Things

The Bride has lived through two major floods. The first, the December 11th No Name Storm, happened so quickly they couldn’t even give it a proper name. She was just 12, and the Shrewsbury tributary came rushing through our backyard on the Jersey Shore, flowing into our house. She had to be rescued, along with her brother, by a fireman friend. The second, happened in early May of last year, while she was working as an ER resident in Nashville. The hospital roof caved in and her car was stuck in the parking lot. Her Groom-to-be rescued her after finding their shelter pups happily swimming in their flooded basement.

I keep two smooth stones with me always as talismans: one from the beach at Sandy Hook, and one from County Mayo. Not that I’m superstitious, no not at all. The poet is E E Cummings.