Talk of the weather

The rain changes the shapes of trees. It changes the buildings, though not, she thinks, this building. This building stays dry and firm. Mill takes out her magnifying glass and begins to harvest statistics.

The telephone rings: Carlisle.

“Hello,” Mill says.

“You want to know how bad it is?” he says.

“It doesn’t look all bad,” she says.

“It’s a black cloud over a picnic before it rains. It’s a jammed pistol. It’s a dictionary with half the letters removed.”

“It’s a tornado that hits your barn not your house,” Mill says as he hangs up.