Before the River Takes Us
The story
Black rain strikes the northern hill and the upper ford gives way. Toman Reedwhistle runs ahead of the flood to sound the warning bells: one for water, two for the road, three for leaving what you cannot hold. On the way he pulls two children from a wagon sinking in the mud. At Brindle Bridge the whole valley gathers with ropes, but uprooted trees jam against the old oak span and the water rises toward a dozen homes downstream. The bridge was built by Toman's father, who taught him that roads are promises, not monuments. Toman takes an axe to the center stay and lets the river carry it away. At dawn, six black-cloaked riders arrive at the broken crossing with silver stakes, and their hammers ring in the pass.
Toman's lesson that a road is only worthy while it carries people home returns as the valley's guiding rule in "Take Back the Road".
Lyrics
The upper ford is gone! The river's on the road!
Black rain struck the northern hill, The millrace climbed the wall; I saw the marker-stone go down, Then heard the alder fall. Reedwhistle, run - the river bends Above the orchard ground; Three miles of mud and rising dark Before the warning sounds.
One bell for water, Two for the road, Three means leave What you cannot hold!
Run before the river takes us, Wake the valley, clear the ford; Leave the bridge - save every heartbeat, Give the dead wood to the storm.
I cut across the grazing slope, With flood upon my right; The rain erased the lower path, The day went black as night. A wagon stood axle-deep, Two children locked inside; I broke the pin and freed the mare, Then pulled them to the rise.
One bell for water, Two for the road, Three means leave What you cannot hold!
Run before the river takes us, Wake the valley, clear the ford; Leave the bridge - save every heartbeat, Give the dead wood to the storm.
At Brindle Bridge the whole vale stood, With ropes around the beams; Beyond it lay the winter seed, Below, a dozen homes downstream. Hold the crossing, cried old Fen, That oak has stood through ten; Then roots and rooftops struck the span - We would not get ten again.
I knew each peg my father drove, Each mark beside the rail; He taught me roads are promises, Not monuments that must prevail. So I set the axe against his name, And split the center stay; The river took our finest bridge And bore the flood away.
Cut it loose! Clear the bank! Count each face! Name each name! Grain can grow! Oak can mend! Save the living! Not the bridge!
Run before the river takes us, Wake the valley, clear the ford; We fed the bridge into the water, Kept each heartbeat from the storm. Raise the bell above the waters; Let the broken timbers warn: Every road is only worthy While it carries people home.
Count again. Call each name. Count again.
At dawn the rain withdrew uphill, We found the eastern track; Six black-cloaked riders marked the span With silver stakes unpacked.
Stone does not wash away. Order does not bend.
I heard their hammers in the pass Before the song could end.