Limon, Colorado rattled in the savage wind for the seventh straight night.
It was a cruel wind that sliced open the sky. Black gusts ripped apart rose bushes and ripped heirloom tomatoes off the vine.
Then the wind was gone.
But the soul had been torn out of the town and apprehensions long ago set aside returned. So did a sense of dread, a fear of the land itself which had suddenly turned heartless.
