Style of John Steinbeck creative story
There was a beauty in the death of the cattle. A kind of frustrated satisfaction that is wrought from an uphill struggle finally over, despite ending the journey at the foot of the mountain. Gaunt bodies littered the fractured earth, creating a stillness in the air, a sense of a battle just over; a battle where each side had slaughtered all the warriors of the other. The shriveled mounds of stagnant meat were dissolving into
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cigarette in the light of the drowning sun. With a consenting moan from the towering gums, the first raindrops landed bravely upon the dirt, and turned into steam. Behind them followed many more, until the steam disappeared. Ed put on his akubra hat and walked out into the gale winds and blinding rain. He caught the drops of joy on his tongue and smiled completely. The land began to cool, and the drought was over.
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