Joel
I feel lighter without the extra pair of hands and feet weighing me down. Not to mention the teeth. Mother Nature takes pity on me, but by the time I reach the house, her patience has run out. I’m making a second trip from the truck to the barn when the rain begins falling in large pellets, shooting droplets that promise of more to come. The drops strike the earth hard and fast, leaving black craters in the dirt. Thunder cracks and rain slams into me like bullets from an M60 machine g*n, turning my clothes into a soiled mess.
As I dart across the lawn, a gust of wind whips the Almanac from the top of my pile and into the air. I almost let it go. I would have, had I not come out of the barn to find that it had blown back into the yard and had plastered itself against the old oak wher
