Clouds roll over the golden plains, fighting for their spot in the sky.

White hot, the sun beams with intensity down upon the drought ridden fields without mercy, while the cacophony of thunder rumbles on in the distance.

The air’s aroma is sweet and pure, hinting the showers that are about to commence. Sticky wind hums quietly as the humidity envelopes the atmosphere with tight constraint.

The sun undying above the earth makes room for itself as the clouds push through. Shining droplets begin to fall. You can hear the little children with scraped knees and dirty faces laughing outside, for this occurrence is not often.

The devil is beating his wife.

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