Purple lightning shot across the sky, that night old farmer Harrison wandered out to his cornfield. Newly widowed, with a bottle of Russian in his blood, he stopped below the grey cotton ball of thunder, raised the TV–antenna, and waited.
A bolt struck two feet away. He stretched himself and elevated the antenna.
Eventually, the cloud drifted away.
For a moment, antenna still in hand, Harrison contemplated the mistake he nearly made. He didn’t see the second thundercloud until it roared.
For weeks later, neighbors wondered why he wouldn’t step outside to remove that ugly, bird–infested scarecrow lying on his cornfield.