The torrents have left their mark here,
As mud puddles and ditches show.
The oils slip by past battered grass;
Debris’s amazed how fast it flows.

I walk along admiring floods
Like others seek out Christmas lights,
Enthralled to see creeks overflow
In nature’s primordial rites.

When not splashing, I walk on curbs
As if I could relive childhood
By trying not to fall off now,
Walking whithersoe’er I would.

This past spring the pollen’s gold dust
Dyed the rushing flood waters green,
Restoring natural colours
Back to afflicted living things.

But now ’tis fall and the brown grass
Is littered with wet clumps of snow
Where cotton’s escaped from the trucks,
Littering the roadsides below.