Forget the calendar and the solstice. My summer begins with those first ominous afternoon storms of electrically charged charcoal sky suffused with the scent of impending moisture. The drama of lightening and thunder may get most of the attention, but I revel in the sound of rain.
Rain speaks in as many distinct tones as the human voice. Sometimes it’s a Babel of cacophonous racket, at other times soothing. I particularly enjoy summer downpours because they offer such a wide range of voices as to create a kind of symphony from the sky.