The last weeks of August sizzle. Furnace days that pass like treacle. Hottest days on record, air so close it’s hard to breathe. Air so hot it’s impossible to get relief. Sleepless nights. Sticky, long days of hard brilliance. August is stuck in amber: it seems it will never end.
But finally the amber cracks. On the morning of the storm the world is damp with dew and the sun is a blazing orange balloon. We know the storm is coming, but it isn’t until the hour before midnight that it appears. Two booms of thunder and a neon flash herald its arrival. The next crash envelops the house, as though giving birth to it. Lightning flares every few seconds. Thunder grumbles. Rain hammers down.
In the morning the landscape is scoured clean. Green is greener, more vivid after rain. There is energy in the air. In the deluge, autumn’s…
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