Summer 1892 – Hearing Ballads in the Thunder


The rifle that Mrs. Lancaster leveled at me was old but looked to have been well maintained. “You’ll not disturb her,” she said. “She’s done harm to none that have not deserved worse.”

I looked to the distant figure standing in the field, her arms stretched to the sky.  I said, “There is a storm coming. There will be lightning and rain.” 

Mrs. Lancaster showed a proud motherly smile. “She don’t catch colds. But she do catch the lightning. I’ve seen her get struck ten, twelve times in a night. It makes her laugh. She don’t sleep for days afterward.”