It was raining cats and dogs yesterday. Then the cattle started falling; it got out of hand. My own private rustic rainstorm, courtesy of the redneck nation. Cow pies turning ripe in the swirling wind. Now the shifting clouds quickly converge, bringing thunderous vibration and dashes of lightning that sprinkle the plain. The impossibility of an honest day, and the inevitability of the waning afternoon, weighing themselves against my tired mind.