River Rat

In my old neighborhood in Farmington Hills there was a drainage canal that snaked through the subdivision. It usually had a little water in it, slowly flowing. But in a rainstorm, the water would sometimes turn brown and flow strongly, developing rapids and whitewater.

One day I was out walking after a series of big storms and the river was flowing stronger than I had ever seen it. The rapids were huge and licked the banks, threatening to explode out of their confines into the nearby yards. I stared at the rushing current, transfixed by its power.

Suddenly I saw a lump of something coming down the river. As it came close I realized that it was a rat, soaking wet and clinging for dear life to an old chunk of wood. The river sped this poor little guy away, and in no time he was gone.

This is a very big week for us. We are submitting our offer on the house we like, right in the middle of layoffs at my company. We have a baby on the way, and very little time to move into a new house, because ours is sold and the clock is ticking fast.

Although I'm doing everything I can, I feel powerless against the forces that I am up against right now. I feel like that rat, clinging to an old piece of wood as the torrents of water sweep me to my destiny.