The river will have its day. The rains will come and the river will rise. The river will rise and spill its banks and spread, fanning hungrily over the lowest land, widening, seeking its rest. Spreading its chaos. An angry current, long pent up, unimaginable: a thundering coffee-brown tumble of mud-water, miles across, bobbing with tires and tree limbs, porch roofs and garbage cans. Mesmerizing. Running on, drowning cornfields, wheat fields, bean fields, baseball diamonds. Unrelenting.