Hailstones Why not slow down and pull up next to this black, sideways cow. Could this be a silhouette? Or simply, a figure shy of the fence south of the wooden barn. Gravel pounds the side of the car. The hand-break on, window down. Her lashes, the cow’s blasé gaze. We’ve been driving five hours and the voice on the radio says the hail in the city is headed our way. Reliably, the cow dressed for it and here we...
