As soon as the first drop of rabbit blood hit the dusty ground the sky screamed.  Never had he seen such fury from the sky.  Clouds formed not from the moisture in the air but from something sinister in the Earth.  Shelter was the first thought.  The homestead was a sturdy bastion these many years.  It had outlasted floods and droughts, windstorms and dust devils.  He ran towards it with the still dripping rabbit in his hand.  The wind was no longer a warning.  It demanded his body be thrashed  backward, away from the house.  It took his hat.  From the terrible sky came something even more wicked than lightning and strong hail.  A funnel from the clouds descended and began to suck away every trace of progress.  The windmill pump disintegrated into tinder as the blades careened off the shattered yolk.  Narrowly missing his head it disappeared over the horizon.  With nothing to do but succumb to the terror he held on the the fence post.  Years ago he dug the posts deep and strong.  As the house began to lift off the foundation he knew this was the end of what he had built and the beginning of something larger.  Perhaps death.  Perhaps not.