October's Wheels Grind Slowly Through the Mud

We're dealing with the aftermath of our disastrous flooding here in Colorado, and are handling it as well as can be humanly managed. There are so many stories of what happened to people, places, animals, and things that even a story addict like myself has had to build up a shell just to survive all the heart-wrenching tales. I know the feeling when your reality suddenly changes. Disbelief as your heart skips a beat, then another, then stutters along as you try to come to terms with unreality. It can be caused by the death of a loved one, your cancer diagnosis, a car accident, or economic ruin. And now we can add one I hadn't thought too much about until now: Your home is there, filled with your life's possessions, representing safety. Your beloved refuge from the hard world. The next day, hour, minute, your home is gone.

I just heard the story of someone's house disappearing overnight in the flood. The people had no real worry about losing their lovely three-story dream home. It was above a dry wash on the only level ground on the property, but the heavy rains had filled the gully with water for the first time in over ten years. They went to spend the night at a neighbor's house simply because the unusual sound of the rushing water was keeping them awake. They returned in the morning, planning to get ready to go to work, and the house had vanished. The powerful water had undercut the flat land the house was built upon, taking away both the house and the ground it was built on.

Mushrooms and green grass in abundance now.

Fall is here and winter is breathing down our soggy necks.