I love the rain. The river is a milky jade green from all the snow that's melting in the mountains. The water is pretty and deceptive, it looks smooth as stone but it is deep and treacherous. Places along the river where in the summertime there are white rapids are now churning ridges of water, like ocean waves that hold constant.

I walked over the bridge and could feel the massive thrumming rush of water against the steel supports and girders. The water is high against the bank, and halfway submerged riverside trees stand bare and slumbering, scratchy branches dark against the lavender sky that is now fading to dusk. I can feel miniscule saturating droplets falling from the luminous clouds.

I think I might try writing a murder mystery.