I open the front door.
The air is already hot, humid, 
close. A watery sun barely makes
patches of light on the green
trees overhead before it's 
gone.

In a fallen brown magnolia leaf
A few drops of rain have puddled. A
damp patch outside the door and the

black car stops in front of the house and
drops a young man off. He opens the garage door
across the street and sits
waiting.

faint memory of a crash of thunder
in the middle of the night are all
there is to show that it rained.