You're On Fire Pt 11

You and Tim were born a week apart; you lead him around the house, adopting the air of your father as you point out the flaws and cracks that need to be fixed; you go up to your new room, watching the impossible rainfall pour over the docks that look like pinball flippers that are almost completely under the gray water, and the rope swing tied to the dead sycamore, the rope usually high above the water and the site of some of Dan Bell’s most spectacular dives now drug downstream by the heavy current like a towline. The river is normally some half mile across; now it looks twice that, the hungry waters frothing over the grasses and evergreen trunks of the Woods that grow right up the edge of the banks, their roots exposed and holding on for dear life.