Meh, who knows where this came from?

A cold and bitter wind whipped around the lone figure in the brown meadow of weeds. Soft mud covered the wet ground. The fence with her peeling paint stretched on past the endless fields of tall green corn. Clouds scuttled by in the late afternoon sky. A large black mound of ominous rain dragged along behind, threatening to blot out a weak sun. Shiver and hug your arms tighter around yourself. Step into the sea of weeds soon to be cut for this winters hay. The birds are silent, a lone beetle inches slowly up a nearby reed. Breathe and remember. The rain hurries forward, the sun grows dim. Whisper. The wind grabs it away and whisks it off to another land. Another place. Another time. The yellow hat shines brightly against the myraid of earthy pasture. Red golashes suck mud into their grooves, dig deep into the ground. The wind drives the clouds away. For one breif moment the sun is shinning down warming the land. Loving her. Carressing her. Then blackness covers the sky. The wind pushes on. THis rain is too long to soon be cast away. A drop lands on the yellow hat. Another plummets to the ground and splashes mud high. A loud sound as large drops crash against the fence. Breathe and remember. One red boot lifts from the ground and leans foward. The other follows. Again. And again. Until you are running. Run, the wind at your back. Run, the mud squelching beneath your feet. Run, the weeds sweeping aside. Run, the rain drenching everything. Run, the warmth of your breath stolen away. Run. Run.

Run. Do not look back.