Around nine o’clock, the air grew heavy. The crickets stopped chirping. A hush fell over the neighborhood. Then, a flicker of light behind the hills, too brief to be lightning, more like a camera flash from God. Sam would look at me, eyes wide. We’d grab our skateboards and race to the highest point of the street—the old fire road.
The thunderstorm.
“Pool,” I confirmed.
This is the hour summer feels like a held breath. The day is done, but the night hasn’t started. It’s a pause. my favourite season summer