The flood came without warning. A 500-year deluge, Biblical proportions, the end of times, they said. Punishment for our sins, our disbelief. Just once, forget about the apple and the garden, Adam and Eve, Noah and his ark. You know those old stories by heart now, handed down, generation after generation, like some deep and weary worn death march. Emily Dickinson said, “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” We took the flood as it came this time, knowing that God is no strongman but sees only our radiating light, our better angels, and that thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
Jody Kennedy is a writer and photographer living in Provence, France.
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