Summer’s independence slid down autumn’s throat and spread the last of its cinnamon hue across the sky. Drizzle came, first a carefree child collected in puddles and splashed into gutters, open parlor windows and the spaces between happiness while crows danced in it, picking out wet bits of survival between muddy mounds.
On the hillside, the rancher in tattered hip waders pushed two score and seven head down range. The last stars pulled over a puffy black blanket and the hard rain came. Hooves clopped grooves into runny roads, rivulets trickling over denials neighed in every step. Will forced them on, the downpour blackening an already inky night. Clops grew to trots. Trots collected to earthen thunder, then dissipated as the last steed passed twisted wire fencing.
Hissing through the dell’s thin branches and thick trunks, fall’s wind reared. She yanked the gate through thick chocolate soup with a curse as the first bulges of blue lightning ignited the clouds. Five seconds to thunder. Not long now. Gnarled, frayed rope cinched tight closing the pen. Two seconds between flash and thunder. A tug down on a wide wet hat served as the only acknowledgement to the danger shooing each living thing to its abode.
Through heaving, worked breath cast in chilly crystals, orange-and-yellow strobes from the distant ranch house’s black iron stove offered the first signs of work complete. A gust pushed her toward home, wide leaves from the maples racing past. Rain seeped through soaked cotton clothes etching pain into marrow. Squeaks signaled the front door closing tight, the smells of apple and burning pine replacing manure and soak, the rancher still wondering what would not survive the night autumn’s throat roared.
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I am the co-host and creator of "The Science Fiction Show" podcast with my good friends Keith Houin and Michael Wistock. Join us each Friday for a look at all things Sci-Fi in the world of pop culture, TV, film and more. How? Easy! 
My Science Fiction Show crew and I have started reading submissions for "Battlespace." Goal is to have them read and decided upon by April 6. Thanks to everyone who submitted.
My short story, "The Lives Magda Made," was accepted into the horror anthology, "No Rest for the Wicked" from Rainstorm Press. The book is due out in May 2012.
I write a regular humor & lifestyle column at "An Army of Ermas." You can catch up on all my columns
Dude, as always, freaking awesome. :D
Get it sent out!!!
(But change trckling to trickling first)
Adam
Definitely evokes some strong imagery. Your writing is very poetic.
Wow, I love your prose–the images are very vivid, unique, and poetic. I covet your ability to paint such a striking image for us in just a few paragraphs!
Fantastic. The first paragraph stopped me dead, it’s one of the most evocative things I’ve read in ages. The images!
One note: . “Soaked cotton clothes began (became? Or are you missing a -to be) seeped through”
Thanks for the notes on the change! And thanks for reading!
As always, Jason, your style of writing paints a vivid picture that applies to all five senses. Beautifully written!
The style of the first paragraph is to showey (i.e. “look how good I am with words and phrases” as opposed to providing a clear picture of what is happening). I like the remainder of the piece, it draws me into the story although I am not sure if Will, in the second paragraph and the she in the remaining paragrahs are the same person. Are they two different people or is Will a female. At any rate I would read on to find out.
Great job.
Ed
I’ll echo what they said. This is a strong piece, magically painting a picture. The night can become cruel. It reminds me of the weather, here in Portland, Oregon. We lived in Washington for most of my life; I always liked to say they called it Washington because we got ‘washed in tons.’ Lame joke – sue me.
Wouldn’t you hate to be the horses? Great images.