The rain thickened the air so that when looking down the hill, I saw the wood through a haze. The just-varnished leaves glisten and gleam and here and there one makes a quick curtsey as a drip from somewhere above blesses it with its touch, while hidden from view, the stream is making its presence heard.
It's swollen - gorged, in fact - and higher than I've ever seen, and mean; it'll wreak all the havoc it can, and should you slip and fall, it'll teach you a lesson you`ll be lucky to live to learn.
Then in due course, when it has emptied its bowels into the river and is hungry again for more rain, it'll seem quite harmless and children will play safely in its trickling, tickling flow and think it doesn't mind.
But come another storm, it'll catch and snatch - and pass with utter indifference the flowers in mourning on its bank
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