On days like today, after intolerable heat and humidity my brother and I would stand in the open garage and wait. The storm would come after changing the world to that supersaturated color. It would roll in much like today from a black sky. My grandmother would laugh at us and remark about angels bowling in heaven. We would agree and say it must be a particularly good game of bowling if the storm was bad. She would let us go run out of the garage, when the electrical part of the storm passed over. We would run with wild abandon throwing up our arms. The downpour would immediately drench us. Our feet would slap against the still hot blacktop that steamed in the rain. We laughed like maniacs and ran in and out of the garage. My grandmother would sit and smile at us. Our clothes would hang heavy on us full of water. Eventually the storm would pass and the rain would stop. My grandmother always had warm towels on hand. Ever since those days I have loved summer storms. Even when I get soaked in them.