Where was it?

A stretch of Texas road, a small bridge near San Antonio.

There was a diminutive flood marker—five feet.

I have kept thinking about flood markers, the way they tell us what we cannot see beneath the rising waters.

Yesterday I wondered what we would do if the numbers were more metaphysical than material—travel past this spot and know that this is bottomless, an endless darkness.

Matthew 16:1-4 KJV
[1] The Pharisees also with the Sadducees came, and tempting desired him that he would shew them a sign from heaven. [2] He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather: for the sky is red. [3] And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowring. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times? [4] A wicked and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given unto it, but the sign of the prophet Jonas. And he left them, and departed.