I can hear the thunder roll in the distance, it promises cool winds to the fortunate. A fickle promise of relief from sweltering heat and humidity that hangs so heavy in the night air. Hit and miss, the rain will touch someone close, somewhere soon...
The approaching detonations sound more crisp, sharper, louder. Out of sync flashes of light forewarn the next series, lighting nearby tree tops with yellowish light. One long jagged tearing crash, more treble than bass announces the approach of the squall line. And rain drops, scattered and sparse.
But the air still hangs hot and heavy before the fickle wind. Those few rain drops that found their way down to the pavement and side walks now steam back up, adding unnatural weight to the saturated air.
The thunder rolls more distant, and farther away now. Making promises in it's wandering way.
