Sometimes, the lake returns

I live on the eastern 'shore' of Lake Blaisdell, usually merely a dry rise in the land, a barely noticeable, faded footprint of a prehistoric shoreline. Lake Blaisdell was a lovely little puddle back in the day, no more than a large pond, really, lying on the outskirts of Minneapolis, a quick walk away through the countryside, a nice spot on a hot day (if you could stand the leeches).

The lake was filled in around 1918 to make room for more brownstones, and no one remembers the lake anymore. But sometimes it comes back.

I'm sick as a dog tonight in my apartment, sipping orange juice and gulping illicit cold medicines I snuck in from Britain that contain paracetomol, which kind of makes you high. I was watching Sex and the City reruns and eating leftover spicy thai food when the cloudburst came--the lights flickered, and the other side of the street went dark. It was roaring with a downpour outside, and eastern shore, which my front door abuts, began to fill in.

Even though I was sick I put on a hoodie and grabbed my camera and ran out in my pajamas to snap some photos of this once in a decade event--the brief return of Lake Blaisdell. The gutters grew overloaded and began belching water back into the streets, which ran in sheets and then overcame the curbs until all of 24th and Harriet shimmered and shuddered and the chutes of water collided with the growing pools and had no where to go but over my shoes. It was pretty!

But my digital camera sucks and so the pictures don't do it justice--really, I swear to you! The lake came back tonight!