“Currents crisscrossed and coursed over bushes and around the trees that Oscar called salt cedars. The barnyard fence had fallen. Rain poured from dark, swift clouds as though countless water buckets had been overturned. The horizon roiled with white-capped gray waves. The air whistled and swept the rain in sheets toward the gulf, the wind still coming from behind the house. I was on the front veranda by the door, and using a broom, I swatted at the frogs that leapt up the steps.
Oscar had been gone for two hours.”