A mild summer afternoon has turned to a muggy evening. The June storms have arrived, bringing a paradoxical increase in the temperature. We stand in the open garage bay facing south as lightning illuminates the clouds above, each flash forming shadow images on the horizon.
The minor league ball game across the street has called a rain delay. Neil Diamond blares “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head” as the crowd thins out. The bravest souls move up in the stands seeking shelter under the overhanging roof.
One by one, heavy jetliners appear over my left shoulder seemingly just beyond arm’s reach. They drone onward below the storm clouds on final approach to Big City International Airport. Occasionally the storm will silhouette one against the sky, burning its image into my memory.
Gunshots ring out across the city, faint but too irregular to be fireworks. We turn up the police radio and wait, as the ball field begins to play “Here Comes the Sun.”