David+Moore

The Flood June 9, 1972 by **David Moore**

The cruel winds forced the heavily burdened clouds over the mountain tops, and howled as the bellies of their unwilling companions were ripped open spilling the precious moisture; moisture that had been destined for the parched and dying prairies.

Moisture now dropped on the sides of the mountains already drunken, sodden with rain.

Mountains that spilled and spewed their drink into the overfull trenchers that toppled hurling their loads into the canyons below. The waters now formed a merciless mob as rivers, streams and brooks rushed shoulder to shoulder in a manic race for the sleep-subdued, complacent city.

Like the Bristle Cone Pine which must endure fire to reproduce, so the city, shocked awake, staggered and stumbled up out of the debris and began to rebuild, to renew, to refresh itself: to trade tragedy for triumph, devastation for design, ashes for beauty.

The ageless, enduring beauty of natural things, things that enliven the spirit, quiet the Mind and strengthen the body. And the creek, which roared, ripped, and ravished, now meanders through the city, quietly murmuring its apology.

David Moore 2997 Connie Court Rapid City SD 57703

Copyright 2003