The distant wailing of wind whisks the wintry bristles of my skin. The low, sardonic growl of thunder reverberates in the bony cage ‘round my heart. As I hastily ride on, the path is at length obscured by a thick cloud of russet dust. Like a whimpering creature soothed by her mother’s gentle song, the nebulous dirt road is settled by a gentle rain, and familiar Old Oaks and wooden fences come into view again.