Floods

Psalm 93

I try to get back into my usual routines but somehow it is difficult. Life is not normal. All the cupboards are empty and the drawers are upstairs. The chairs are waiting to be recovered. The walls are waiting to be stripped of the water marks and the damp removed. The floor is tile covered in wood glue.
I no longer hear the roar of the flood at night, though it did persist for a few days. Neither is the smell of damp mud in my nostrils any longer.
Slowly the neighbourhood is eturning to normal. Quite a few houses have the remnants of their kitchen on the pavement and there are piles of concrete, presumably dug up and discarded floors.
The word flood is not one that will never again pass through my ears without twinges of emotion.