The torrential rains were gone and most of the harvest was ruined. The farmers whose fields suffered irreparable damage, buried their heads in their hands and wept. They looked up wearily at the indifferent summer sun who seemed oblivious of their woes, or was pretending to be cheerful and urging them to do likewise and go forward with courage. After all, the Sun himself was clouded and blinded, degraded, when the rains took over.
The days before them would be difficult, of a kind that not many have faced before, a disaster that manifests itself perhaps once in a century.
The rains themselves were not forever winners, they were forced into downpour by a higher power, and their glory lasts but a few days, then they exist no more.