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Show 213 grass so that wide, luminous sheets of water billowed toward and fell down over us. I was surprised by the feeling of the water down my spine and reminded me that I didn't know everything about my father. The four kids, myself included, tried to flank him with buckets full of water, but he was quick with that shovel and the water arced over and transformed us. I can imagine waking up in the morning and seeing the bright water gleaming in the gutters as water slides down the mountains like a fountain. The wind, too, would be watery, and unalloyed water would be everywhere. Families would try to walk to their storage rooms downstairs to find the stairway gone from sight after the second step, jars of jam and canned fruit floating like small boats in the water, bumping into the stairs. I am interested in what would sink, and what would float-something we debated and tested a lot during childhood, but only on the level of forks sinking, and Tupperware floating. I guess we would build rafts, which would bump and straggle like a person in an unfamiliar house in the dark, the water hissing, shimmying, around us. At night, the water would be dull and opaque, until a swimmer or piece of furniture surfaced, tearing the water to look new, glassy, and black. Lamps would collide and sound like stars clinking. Then nothing to do except find a secure spot, steady one's self and see the whole world rum to water. It's already true that wherever you rum your eyes the world can shine like transfiguration. But that is not the same as the Noah |