when the wolf comes to pigtown
It’s easy to blame the pigs. Named as Big and Little, Blunt and Runt, as Blacky, Whitey, Browny in some versions, who danced and played as fabled when they should have been more practical, more wary of the wolves who prowled the straw and sticks, who spun the projects into nurseries of storied discontent. Either way you look at it—the wolf who puffed like diddies or the one who blew down houses in a huff, one by one, in rows outside the red line—the piggies took it on their chinny-chins. They kept the water boiling.
Texarkana’s Facebook post confirms the stranded fish
in neighbor’s yards, public parking lots, bouncing off the
concrete near the high school, at the used car dealership
on Summerhill. Freak occurrence? Somebody’s prank? Forty
smelt and flounder lying on the ground along an English
garden. Fish raining just before the new year in Folsom,
California. And in Manna, India, people had reported
in July seeing live, pencil-sized fish falling from the sky.
Was it fish surfing on the tide of flooding waters or
password to the Bible, fish in torrents, plaguing conscience?
God’s wrath as coda to the storyline in season 1
of Fargo, the "Supermarket King of Minnesota"
quaking in the chaos of divine retribution (see Ezekiel).
Or was it Jesus hidden in the manna falling. According
to the legend, people in Honduras prayed three days and nights
before the dark cloud appeared, and then the fish rained from the sky
to provide. Behold! (see Exodus). The locals call it
“downpour of the fish.” It raises issues, when fish get swept
up in the storm clouds, fish begetting problems in our thoughts
when skies get dark, and it rains for several hours. Accounts
have been told for hundreds of years. A column of moving, cloud-
filled wind over the water. A sound not quite like rain.