It was only a rain-storm coming! Down in the valley country such storms were frequent at this season, too common for their meaning to be appreciated.

Here in the desert of wheat rain was a blessing, life itself.
The creamy-white, rounded edge of the approaching clouds came and coalesced, spread and mushroomed.

Under them the body of the storm was purple, lit now and then by a flash of lightning.

Long, drifting veils of rain, gray as thin fog, hung suspended between sky and earth.
"Listen!" exclaimed Dorn.
A warm wind, laden with dry scent of wheat, struck Lenore's face and waved her hair.

It brought a silken, sweeping rustle, a whispering of the bearded grain.