In a small yellow house or cabin with Jeff Tagami’s family sitting around a big table getting ready to eat—Shirley was there and everyone was aware that Jeff was gone, I looked outside the nearby window and there was a river like Alaska or the Pacific Northwest with a big river emptying into the nearby ocean and forest on the other side, I said, “The river is rising,” maybe repeating it so everyone could hear. I thought they should know because the next time I looked out, the blue green water had risen a couple inches pressing against the panes of the window itself.

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