Listen. It comes up the valley carried up over the hills on a great wind. Hear it in the promise of rain, the movement in the orchard. The moment arrives and I stand, shedding garments like old lives and turn to where the river flows dark beneath the trees. I hesitate once, cold water grabbing my legs, then plunge into the blackness. Three times I go under in the cold then rise, clawing for the other side. It starts to rain. On the other side I wandered till dawn and found nothing. Nothing but myself and the rain drenched forest the swishing of trees and the white heart of thunder.