About 40 years ago, in order to build a housing
project across the street from me, my town rechanneled and tamed a longtime
floodplain, scooping out hundreds of the rocks and pebbles I had loved to step
across as a child as it built the stream's surrounding walls higher and erected a
fence. Ever since then, the current in that creek has become almost constantly
placid.
You can imagine my surprise Friday morning, then, on my way to the
bus stop for my morning commute into New York, to see that same stream suddenly
reverting to something like the churning brown torrent I recalled as a child.
The wind from a storm had been enough to wake me overnight, but nothing brought
home the change in the weather so much as the dark, violent waters I photographed
in the hours after the palest of daybreaks.
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