She tried to concentrate her thoughts, but it was like the flood had swept up her mind in its mindless rising, I should not let this break me, was whisked downstream, and all the thought that was left was eddying, whirling. Now he is beyond my reach, sang the starting maelstrom. She let the bag fall from her shoulder, heard the buttons of her coat scrape against the metal separating her from the unslaked water, and discarded that too, stepping out.
20 February 2011
sang the starting maelstrom II
She rested her elbows and breasts on the dull grey railings of the road bridge and cars swished their tyres through the damp tarmac, raising droplets as they passed. The river in spate below her, rushing swirling and tumbling over itself within its familiar boundaries, and clawing at the wet land it had covered away from its banks. Her hair hung down, narrowing the boundaries of her face as she concentrated on the dizzy water with her grey eyes.