The humidity was sticky-high when I walked Mr. Black this morning. An azure sky promised a sizzler. However, far north, beyond the horizon, came low rumblings sounds. A growing storm?
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 serious.
As the breeze freshened, we moved indoors and watched the approach of our weather guesser‘s partly cloudy 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 frog’s serenade. The excess water will be gone by morning. So will they will they as they burrow into the mud, waiting and listening.