As I sit on my back stoop, the day that was thick and heavy with humidity is transforming all around me. To the northwest there’s the rapid flickering of what I grew up hearing called “heat lightning.” The air is tangibly cooler from occasional puffs of breeze high in the treetops. Thunder rumbles in the distance and the dogs are nervous.
The light show high above the solid ceiling of the clouds is working its way steadily to the south southeast maintaining its apparently regular yet certainly random rhythmic dance. The thunder sounds like bowling balls pushed down the alley by a very young child – meandering its way along the hard wood before reluctantly thumping into the gutter just short of finding the pins. Though the light show is now overhead, the children’s bowling birthday party stays far away yet nary a pin has fallen.
Now the promise of more relief as there’s a light but steady and gentle push of air from west to east down here close to the ground while the treetops are quiet. The cricket’s chatter and sing. Is it because they anticipate the storm or because they are oblivious to it?