The panic set in and petals of roses began flying around, poltergeist style through the wet air.
The frantic energy of power lines started inside the generator then remained in control, until the final moment.
I don't know what that was like, to completely lose balance.
Only the birds, dropping one by one off the power lines, really know for sure.
Electricity itself is panic, we've only recently simply learned to control it.
Plug in a toaster, flip a light switch.
For the bird, he sits there and doesn't turn into Frankenstein soup when the lighting strikes.
He is not connected to the ground.
If his beak was copper, it still wouldn't matter.
He could not peck his way with Morse code back to the source
of the rain.