"I began the first Friday after the hurricane staring at the faces of worried neighbors who had been prepared to find my body. Midday, I traipsed through electric line-choked trees older than my great-grandparents and averted mudslides to get to a friend, just to put my arms around her. By sunset, before we knew anything about the death toll or a curfew, we walked down Haywood to get a glimpse of the French Broad River. She was furious, ravenous, still careening through the River Arts District. I could not look long. It felt like something I should not see, something intimate and private. It reminded me of a line from a poem by Ron Rash, a resident of western North Carolina: 'They cannot see a river / is a vein in God’s arm.'"
~ Morgan L. Sykes
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