An unexpected rainstorm after tepid temperatures and windless conditions. Radar indicated the the system to go north of us, but we are in its southern reaches, thunder a way off heralded its approach. The sky began filling with dark clouds; temperatures dropping slightly providing a welcome coolness on the skin. Treetops fluttered. I carried in our plastic picnic table, partially folding it to fit off the aisle in our little porch. Grandson wanted to wait out the rain on his bicycle but as it began to fall more rapidly, Grandma told him to come indoors and bring the bike with him, and so the rain fell straight down, harder, hard enough to fill the gutter over the door and cascade out its open end and plunge splattering into the grass below, its cadence wavering as the rain slowed, then fell hard again. Mists arose in the corral. The drips spattered from the roof edge one by one. The leaves hissed. Cars out on the county road could be heard faraway as the storm quietly moved eastward ... and blue patches of sky could be seen again.
"OH MY GOD! SVEN IS DEAD!" the new neighbor Jack Krag said, running from his car to the swing set in Sven's yard where Sven Guyson laid prone on the ground, one foot still afloat in the seat of the swing, his face against the sod, his cap ajar. "SVEN! SVEN!" Krag repeated plaintively, gently turning Sven over onto his back; the imprint of grass and dirt stuck to Sven's open-eye slobbery face. " HE'S JUST A'FOOLIN' YOU, bon ami! " shouted Monique, Sven's wife of two years and some months from the porch. "He's just workin' up to his expiration date and wants his death to be just a part of our normal routine. He doesn't want to surprise anyone by dyin' unexpectedly. You know what a shock a death can be. He's just tryin' to ease us all into it, one act at a time. "WHAT??" Krag fairly hollered in disbelief, looking at Monique, then back st Sven, and back to Monique...
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