Splat, splat, splat splat splat.
The rain began to fall. First a drop, then two, then a handful. I turned my head to the sky, mouth opening wide to drink in the heavens. My nose filled with the pungent mixture of rain, freshly tilled soil, and cow manure. Arms spread wide, I embraced the storm, inviting its gift to soak into the dirt.
In a single motion my back arched and I levitated three feet above the ground, then returned to earth with a thud.
Flash! Crack! Boom! Splat splat splat splat splat!
I dove for cover, threading my way between the towering stalks. I started to choke, breathing in a gagging mixture of water, dirt, and air. I ran. The field seemed infinite and the day seemed endless. At last, hunched over, hands on muddy knees, I stopped trying to escape the tempest. My initial panic gave way to an eerie calm. The palpable electricity caused goose bumps to rise and tiny hairs to stand on end. The heavens cracked again and with them a great rift moved through the middle of the rows. Not five feet away, Shoeless Joe Jackson appeared. The electricity seemed limitless, and the awe seemed boundless.
As the rain lessened, I looked down at the ground, once so dusty and arid, now a teeming mud hole, a veritable oasis for our pigs. Through wet lashes weighed heavily with rain, I could see my shoes. My ruby red slippers. My feet moved of their own accord.