Sunday was yet another boiling day round the port-swiller residence, with the kind of heat and humidity that causes elephants to go rogue and natives to run amok.

Being in a more or less parboiled condition himself from the cumulative effects of commuting through weeks of such miasmatic air, old Robbo did the only sensible thing upon returning home mid-afternoon from Mass:  He promptly dozed off in his favorite comfy chair.

I knew that there was a chance of rain in the forecast.  Also, as I drove home I had noticed some cloud banking far in the west, even though the sun was still beating down unfiltered directly overhead.   So I drifted off with the hope that perhaps later on we might get a spot of rain to bring some relief.

Imagine my delight, then, when I awoke a while later to find the sky overcast and a dark wall of cloud approaching from the west.  Imagine my further delight to hear the squall coming – it sounded exactly like a jet engine before it arrived.  And as I stood watching the rain lashing down in sheets, I could almost feel myself rehydrating by association.

Alas, the storm didn’t last very long, and it really didn’t do all that much to cool things down.  But it was a very welcomed interlude.