From the Internet
The humidity was sticky-high when I walked Mr. Black this morning. An azure sky promised to have a sizzler in tow. However, far north, beyond the horizon, came low rumblings sounds. Threats of a storm? Who could tell?
Barb and I took our coffee onto the porch and listened to Titus 2 on her iPad while also noting the northern promise, hoping. By the time the chapter was finished the blue sky was pushed south, replaced by thin, white clouds. Behind it boiled their cousins, black and ominous. The thunder was becoming more serious.
As the breeze freshened, we moved indoors and watched the approach of our “partly cloudy” weather guesser’s forecast become a cooling summer storm – no lightning, no tornadoes, no damaging winds. It was our un-promised rain.
The summer heat has its foot in the door, but tonight we shall enjoy the frogs croaking from the nearby ditch. The excess water will be gone by morning. So they will once again fall silent a d burrow into the mud, watching and listening.