Bike ride after the storm

I hear the rush and babble of water
where brown rivers still threaten
just out of site
The sound is everywhere
drowning out birdsong
and the familiar whisper of my tires
as they fly on storm muddied roads
reminding me that the weight of asphalt
is an illusion
a borrowed convenience
impervious to rain and traffic
and the tireless wheels of my bike
but not to the river rising up
in sudden, unprovoked rage
dismantling roads like Legos.
Now I know our monoliths can fall
in August and September storms
and with them, my absolute certainty
that the road will always be here