23 September, 2004

When the river flooded, I walked down with two friends. A dusk-to-dawn curfew was in effect because the town was in a state of emergency. There was no panic, though, and no emergency – just the slow creep of the swelling river, each little ripple pushing further up the street. We walked around the somber night streets and onto the middle of the bridge, it’s ends blocked and flanked by flares. No one said anything to us about breaking curfew, and it was obvious that we weren’t the only curious souls in Lewisburg. In all, there were perhaps ten people on the bridge. I looked over the edge and listened. There was only the rushing of the river beneath our feet, it’s flow interrupted by concrete pillars, and the great silence of all that missing traffic. It was a beautiful night.