River

I decided to walk, to see how it was. Morning winds threw me off, waves still lashed at the shore. But the water had receded. There was the occasional patch of blue sky. The city did its occasional disappearing act too. Not everything was broken, but the storm had left a trail.

I couldn't stay in. I saw midday runners and cyclists arrive. They couldn't stay in either. My panicky neighbours bored me. I still found those Brownstone-lined streets beautiful. Leaves of every colour lay thick on the roads. Leaves of every colour remained on the trees too. There are so many leaves.

Trees had fallen everywhere. Bridges had broken. There is a distinctively tilted little bridge that takes me across the harbour into the park. Each time I cross it, I wonder how the bike remains upright. I won't be crossing that bridge any more. The river had lifted it and thrown it aside, far from where it originally was. The Dead End sign, a couple of dozen yards before will now hold true. That bridge - it was the first time I felt sad after the storm.