As the flood carved its frenzied path through unwonted crevices, it remained as mindful of its purpose as it was fretful of its terrible reputation.
Catastrophe. Destroyer. Are eons-rich of being among Mother Nature’s black sheep remotely rectifiable?
Surely intent, good—however overshadowed—far outweighed weighty, ill repute?
The waters parted company, bidding each other farewell. Some intermingled in rivers and streams of no less fervor and direction, but of undeniably better recommendation. Others strived to end their days in uncommon peace and paltry gratitude, ensuring the verdant, lush, and the blooms, perennial.
The flood wended its way, brooding and contemplative.