The air was cool and wet, but not from rain. It was from moisture saturating the atmosphere, and it lent a heaviness to air, like the pressure of being under water without the sluggish mobility. Clouds roiled on the horizon, black and foreboding, like hounds of hell lunging against the Devil’s leash, and gnashing their teeth to vent their rage across the land.
Darkness spread in the wake of the cloud cover, and a sickly green pall cast a ghostly glow over the wheat field, punctuated by hot lightning splitting the air with crawling fingers of light. The smell of ozone followed in its wake, acrid in the nose and bitter on the tongue, pulled through the air by gusts of chilled wind.
Icy rain began to fall, light at first, almost tentative. Then the drops grew in size and intensity thoroughly soaking everything in its path, pummeling all caught in its fury, and stinging any skin it came in contact with. It was the first thunderstorm of the spring, but it would certainly not be the last.