There will be no silence tonight. River's rushing all around, the day's melt finally making it into the valley. Up above, you can finally start to see the mountain peaks under their caps of snow, but it's not all happy. Those snowcaps, waterheavy and dense, melt, sending raging torrents of water downhill. We're at the bottom of the drainage, stuck. It's a catch-22, of sorts. The water is good for us, the land happy, not dry, but there can be too much of a good thing. There is too much of a good thing. I stand by the pond, and watch as the water slowly swallows the road.