It was the kind of night when the city seemed to disappear behind rain and thunder. Inside a flooded concrete skatepark, water poured over graffiti covered ramps, streetlights shimmered on the churning surface, and lightning flashed behind the distant skyline.

Caught in the middle of it all was a tiny black and yellow duckling. Soaked and shivering, he paddled hard just to stay afloat as the turbulent water pushed him farther into the basin. There was no dry ground in sight, and every wave seemed bigger than he was.

Then, through the rain, a rescuer in a royal blue flood response suit knelt down in the shallow water. Moving slowly and carefully, the rescuer placed both gloved hands on either side of the duckling, blocking the current and stopping him from drifting away.

For a moment, the little duckling kept paddling nervously. Then the hands closed gently beneath him and lifted him clear of the rushing water. Drops ran between the gloves as his tiny feet kicked softly in the air, and his frightened chirps slowly quieted.

Held safely between both cupped hands, the duckling was carried toward an elevated concrete walkway above the skatepark basin. Behind him, the rain kept falling and the storm kept rolling, but he was no longer fighting the flood alone.

It was a small rescue, measured in seconds, but for one tiny life in a very big storm, it meant everything.