Mr. Johnson looked up at the sky. It was clear as far as the eye could see, except for the cruel sun. The
insatiable sun drained the land of all moisture. He cursed the sun. Mr. Johnson ran his fingers through
one of the rows of dirt and grabbed a handful. It was bone dry, almost powdery. He let the dirt sift
through his fingers and it turned to dust in the wind. Mr. Johnson put his hands on his hips and surveyed
the field. It was well seeded, that he knew. He had seeded it himself, yet nothing sprang from the dirt.
"Well, there's only one thing left to do," he said to himself. Mr. Johnson headed to church.