The humidity insists that time moves slower here. Or maybe the humidity's oppression slows everybody down. Storms rumble their announcement long before the arrival of rain, thundering from a distance while the sun beats down. Even as the dark clouds devour the blue sky, the temperature stays the same. Heavy drops punctuate the heat, repeating small splashes of cool relief until clothing becomes soaked through.
These showers provide a reprieve from summer's brutality. But only momentarily. The lion of a storm roars past and leaves barely a trace of its ferocity, not five minutes old. The remaining fair gray sky wrings out a few leftover sprinkles.
I anticipate the sun's return with dread. And cling to the memory of each cool plop of rain, though brief in their exhibition.