ATMOSPHERIC RIVER
The atmospheric river high up in the sky deluged downward, and Pacific Northwest rivers and streams overflowed their banks. Cars, trucks, and wooden cabins floated by in murky brown rushing rivers – as if they were late for an aquatic apocalypse, already in progress. On late-night newscasts and mobile phone alerts, we witnessed houses and vehicles meandering, or all at once getting pulled down into the widening waters. Topsy-turvy rain rivers in the upper stratosphere dropped raindrops and snow showers. Floods covering the highways, back roads, and snaking through trails in the backwoods. Nature’s tree-shaking rains submerged towns, farmhouses, and four-way stops in the middle of nowhere. All-terrain vehicles rolled past drowned fields of crops and hidey-holes where squirrels had hidden winter’s nutty food supplies. Formerly submerged one-room shacks and camper vans washed ashore in autumn’s foggy daybreak and early evening’s drizzle. Eventually, people awakened to sunshine on a winter morning. Dampness crawled into the mossy earth and talked with mycelium about springtime. Open eyes called the curious outside to tramp along the riverbanks, through nature’s muddy footprints.
“Aquatic apocalypse” is lovely phrasing of a visually startling expression of natural power.
The imagery of topsy-turvy rain rivers in the upper stratosphere dropping down captures how atmospheric rivers work on a massive scale. What got me was the transition from chaos to that quiet moment when dampness talks with mycelium about springtime because it shows how ecosystems process and recover from extreme weather events. I've watched similar flooding patterns in smaller watersheds and the way nature resets itsself after these events is always more resillient than expected.