Big white clouds moved across that blue summer sky with no ambition. The sun, hanging high, was white, small, and blinding. Laying in the long grass in that remote field, I saw gray weathered fence posts lining the edge of the meadow. Brown, rusted barbed wire came and went from one post to the other. There was a single electric wire strung around white porcelain spools that insured the cows would stay on their side of the fence. I could hear the hum of the current it carried. I knew this was going to be a bad day. I just knew it.
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