It’s been a long hot couple of weeks. But the sky finally broke a few hours ago.

Boy rests his chin on his fists. A tower: left fist at the bottom, pinky to the windowsill. Right pinky atop the thumb of the left hand. Chin on top. Cheeks puffed out. Lips restless. Nose an inch from the freckled glass.

The air smells like it’s been waiting. You know it. When the gases have been dry for so long and the molecules have all been rubbing up against each other with no release, and the tension builds and builds until eventually it all lets loose. There is electricity in the air, but nothing to show for it. Yet. Two trees to the left of the window down the hill shake with the pleasure of the wind and the wet, like dogs who’ve jumped in the lake even though they were explicitly, loudly, repeatedly told not to.

Boy is done. No more playing outside. A welcome break? Maybe. Hopefully there’ll be fireworks.