The storm had turned the river white,
And everywhere the waters flowed.
The plain trees dripped and deadwood drenched,
A thousand springs welled through the rock.
We took the river, cold and deep,
And waded past Achilles’ stream.
Our footsteps on the gravel bed,
The same as heroes, gods and men.
And from the water, plants and air
We sensed a deeper current there:
The flood would usher in the heat,
And Demeter would swell the fields.
From facts we walked, from knowledge fixed.
Then – story drenched – emerged in myths.