All the clouds gathering make me wish for a summer thunderstorm, but they aren't the right kind of clouds. These are the sort of clouds that thicken by night and retain the day's heat. There's a smell in the air that reminds me of rotting fruit. There is also the sound of one LOUD cricket in my back yard. He will probably be chirping all night. His chances of finding a female this late in the season are slim.
Oh, summer oppression.
Oh, summer oppression.