It had become okay to play with dead things.
The wind carried a poison, unknown to a local farmer w.
Wheat fields more than danced a jig amidst the wind\'s soft music.
A tart cow pooh scent pinched up the nostrils of tourists and short Time visitors, but the locals were immune to the aroma.
In the places where farmers ruled as King or Queen, and cattle meandered as prey, a West Kansas town\'s fresh aroma of butchered beef surfed an invisible wind.
Dead things may bite.
Just had to be careful.
It had become okay to play with dead things