Edited by Sheri L. Vandermolen Squall Wind beats the winter wheat. Flap in the stippled breeze Like people clapping hands In a crowded coliseum.
Cows turn their backs to the world.
And these flat-out plains. Now rain paints war designs On the face of this plow-traced land. Furrows retreat like sandcastles Washed by a truculent sea. Autos creep wheel-deep in water. Traffic lights blink into sleep.