{"text":"During the night a fine, delicate summer rain had washed the plains, leaving the morning sky crisp and clean. The sun shone warm—soon to bake the earth dry. It cast a purple haze across the plain—like a great, dark topaz. In the trees the birds sang, while the squirrels jumped from branch to branch in seeming good will, belying the expected tension of the coming days.","author":"Cate Campbell Beatty","tags":["desert","happiness","impending-doom","morning-song-poetry","rain","sunrise"],"id":94471,"author_id":"Cate+Campbell+Beatty"}