‘Oh shit! It’s you again! I didn’t see you coming.’ Birds scatter from the sea of golden grass. ‘It looks like a storm is coming,’ you say. ‘Expect the worst.’ The wind begins to rise, dislodging 100,000 seeds into the sky. Cowering, I swallow hard. You keep telling me what’s coming next but there is something amiss with your story. It has too many holes. You keep repeating yourself. I look up. I can see light amidst the clouds. You were wrong. I always knew it. The storm passed, sliding it’s way across the still, clear sky dissolving into the rising sun. You are gone. I can breathe again. Each time you do this I grow a little wiser to your games.