Once upon a time, the people of North America all experienced the most peculiar July afternoon. It had started off a normal enough day: with wives drinking coffee and husbands reading newspapers; young children eating cereal and watching morning cartoons, while teenagers still sleeping in warm beds, with the stale smells of the previous night's party hanging in the air. All was normal and in order and as was to be expected. In the Midwest a farmer looked across his fields, with delight and anticipation. It hadn't rained in a day over a week and he thought to himself, they were due for a storm or at least a small cloud of liquid gold. In the Southwest, the city streets were all covered in a thin layer of dirty sand. The windows of buildings went unwashed throughout the dry summer months. The mayors of the towns long ago deciding not to waste the energy or time to clean off the dirt and sand which returned overnight, settling in the same cracks and surfaces as the previous day.

Meteorologist couldn't explain the phenomena of a cross continental rain storm that was so quick moving and unexpected. Most people though, didn't want or need an explanation. For hours after the climax and thunder had ender, when all the streets and houses were clean and the deserts refreshed the rain remained as a thin mist all the way across the plains, fields, mountains, hills, deserts and coasts, catching each bit of light skewing the air into magnificent colors, no matter where the people looked.