Great black rolls of shadow roared in our ears and raced over viridian hills. The earth folded in magnificent creases to meet the land below, and you moved your fingers nimbly and quickly through your hair. Your nervous staccato movements spilled more black like an ink spill but the earth ignored you; you with your sweet sorghum tangled hair and your thin wet dress clinging to your hips. You squatted and I ground my teeth at the black grave. Why Didn't You Cry? Instead you conducted the skies and moved earth with your pink little fingers. No one was out there but us. Just the two of us and mist and rain and racing shadows following your direction. They would bend back their ears and bare their teeth in a stretch to race across vast lengths of paddock and sweep through fences and smash into bales of hay. The sky was cold and miserable. The air was blue around us. I wanted to hold your hips in my hands and feel their gentle warmth. You flittered smiles at me, and blinked your long lashes. I shrank back from you and trembled.