Heavy. Slow.

Acrylic pour on canvas.

The rain is heavy and slow, turning the yard to mud. The children want to stomp in it, and we let them. Why not? No one is going anywhere. They come inside and strip naked, running up the stairs to get warm in a shower and robes. They're so pink. I eat dinner standing up.

We read about floods when the children are afraid of the weather advisory. We learn that in minutes, a strong rain can turn an ankle-deep creek into an unstoppable swell that overpowers everything in its path.

I've always dreamed of being overwhelmed by water. I'm standing on a beach, and the waves grow bigger and bigger. At first, I'm not afraid - and then, I'm swept away.

I am overwhelmed. Life is an unstoppable swell. The children never stop talking, and I work. I prepare their lunches, breakfast, dinner, snack, sugar, drink. Outside, people die, and I look at a portfolio and rub jelly onto bread again. I take another call and mute my line.

I'm on a call. Please eat your food. Please go in another room. Yes - that sounds good. We'll take that offline. Let's have the team take a look.

The children only watch me work when they can see my colleagues' faces, but mostly, we keep our cameras off. The children hear me as a drone. I hear them as an alarm - high-pitched. Constant. Urgent.

Even standing water can be deadly. And after a flood, there are risks from electricity, mold, and insects. Recovery is slow and sad. Things will have been ruined.


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