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The flood
Although I’m an old animal now, night is generally my time for walking. I leave my little home as soon as the sun goes down and the horizon, no longer glaring and blinding, dies out, leaving fluffy grey clouds drift over the warm earth. How I love these long night walks straight across this lonesome meadow! How I cherish the chilly night, and how I soak up the whole atmosphere! How I love it’s stillness and it’s mystery it sheds upon the earth as much as any little black-furred creature living.
I have fallen into this daily habit, both
because it’s my nature and because it affords me greater opportunity of catching those tiny black cicadas. I didn’t know the name of this night insect then, but all I really wanted to know was, whether they’re crispy and fat tonight. It’s exactly how I like it, you know. I’m not going to tell you something pretty personal about me. I’m not touchy at all, but I just don’t feel like going into my whole biography, besides it can be quiet boring sometimes. I’ll just tell you about this one crazy night that happened to me a long time ago.
I was walking all night long, enjoying my little night catch. That constant
pacing to and fro in the deep grass, that waiting in ambush, that never-ending restlessness – it’s not a wonder though, the whole activity makes me forget everything in the world.
Where I want to start telling is the day my uncle took me to this strange place he called “The forecaster”. It was a small village, were all those professionals worked. They were mostly badgers and they looked smart in those tiny black velvet suits. They called themselves meteorologists.
Although my uncle was a mole, he used to be one of them. He worked underground, exploring the earthquakes.
He would take my little paw and
explain everything to me in a calm monotonous voice.
“An earthquake is a great disaster.” He said. “An earthquake is what happens when two huge blocks of the earth suddenly slip past one another”.
He explained how the clouds are formed: towering clouds, fluffy clouds, spreading clouds and those ragged ones I like most. We used to talk about those transparent clouds and how they move, when a little flow of air comes around. And that strange vapor whirling in the air, chased by a gust of wind.
It was mainly overcast that day and the only thing we could do was to contemplate the thick clouds floating
over the fields, severe and menacing. A wind got up and I rolled myself in a blanket, trying to look confident. I could hardly keep my eyes open, for I am underground animal, unaccustomed to such unmerciful blasts of wind.
A short time later, I fell asleep. I couldn’t help it. I just couldn’t stay awake with all that humidity and slumber around me. Closing my eyes together, I could still hear my uncle digging somewhere under the ground.
I woke up late at night. Someone gave me a jab in the ribs. It was my dear old friend, the otter. The reason I liked him was that he always showed up at appropriate time and the reason why I
disliked him was that it was useless anyway. Having discovered a large amount of water on both sides of the log, where I was temporary accommodated, I cried out in alarm. I could actually feel my toes touching the cold water. Layers of clouds were moving southwards in rolls. Dark rainbearing clouds gathered over us. Only in the west I could scarcely see a few seldom sunny spells. It began to rain. The relentless torrent was rough and severe. And when we were passing the villages, some displaced flood victims could be seen standing on the roofs, waving with their hands in despair. The flood drew to a close. The
current slackened and we could see the first rays of the sun.
“Well, - exclaimed the otter. -It was a lot of rain in a short time!” We could still feel a lot of water moving very rapidly and strongly in one direction.
We reached the river- bank on the following morning. Emergency crews were working hard, helping the flood victims and gathering their belongings. Numerous landslides took away many lives of tiny rats and field mice, because all of them lived in their little holes in the rye. Their happy families were chatting cheerfully, when the overbank flooding started off. There was no flood warning at all. Poor things, I thought.
“The climate is changing!” I heard someone talking near to where I was sitting.
And it was changing indeed. The recent extreme rainfall has been impacted by climate change. That was the reason.
My uncle told me once: “This climate change can increase rainfall very easily. It’s getting warmer and warmer. Here is the physical fact that a warmer atmosphere holds much more humidity. And it comes down as rain.”
I live in Britain by the way. The climate is very changeable here. I was like in a fog. The otter was the first one to break the ice.
“One cloud is enough to eclipse the sun”, said he. Only, I didn’t understand him at all. I was the Mole and he was the Otter. He could swim. He smiled, squeezed my paw and disappeared in the water.
I wished him good luck though. I sat there for about a half hour after he left. I just sat on the bank, not doing anything. I kept thinking about my poor uncle, how he went on digging and how his huge sinewy paws were breaking through the earth and his panic-stricken eyes. And I could almost hear his voice, muffled and hoarse.
Yelyzaveta Denysova ©
