Summer rain

No rain in over a month. Grass is yellowed, burned. Warm wind circulates like a convection oven from bright blue cloudless skies. Temperatures peak out over 100 degrees. Throughout the day, the clouds gather. We watch with hope as the sky grow darker, as the sky grays. Then, a spatter on the windshield, like hitting a bug. And again. Rain? The thermometer shows the heat dissipating as tires send up a fine mist from the road. I sit outside on the grass and watch the storm come in, watching the lightning, hearing the crackle of the sky tearing before the boom of thunder, counting to see if the storm is coming or going. Raindrops grow bigger and closer together, light and sound almost simultaneous. Have you ever watched the rain come in? Last year, sitting in the guard shack after swim lessons, listening to the thunder, watching the lightning we waited for the rain. Suddenly, one of the guards pointed out the window, and said, "wait for it". We turned and watched a line of water cross the fence and move slowly, steadily forward across the grass, over the cement and pavillions, and then work its way toward us across the water of the pool. Finally the downpour reaches us, coming down straight, not slantways through the window, tapping and pounding on the metal roof.