The clouds. Something wrong with the clouds, dark, moving diagonal instead of rolling off the mountains. Whatever it is, it’s big, and coming this way, hundreds of miles across, spinning, a hurricane crawling across the continent, smashing its way through forests, releasing torrents to flood the rivers, wash away the evidence of man, spawning its tornado children to rip and crush, purple and green channels high in the towering cumulus clouds casting down hail stones to pummel and punish.