The man put his book to one side. It was suddenly incongruous to be reading about the arid red heat of a faraway land. Drama was just a few steps away, happening outside. All around. He opened the door and wandered out into the approaching night. He stood, barefoot, on the sun-bleached grass and felt it begin to come back to life through his toes. His t-shirt clung to him as it soaked through almost instantly. He turned his face upwards, delighting in the heavy rain that was now falling. He suddenly felt more alive than he had been for many days. Those days had each seemed week-long in the heat. Now the glorious cool of the rain washed down over him. His eyes stung a little as he tried to keep them open, gazing at the roiling clouds above him. With brace-yourself suddenness another flash grabbed his attention and he looked across to where the bright, transitory wisp of light had been. The crack and tailing rumble of the thunder ran through him and seemed to echo in the pit of his stomach. He loved storms like this, not violent with the wind behind them but somehow calming and liberating. A pigeon dashed overhead, making its way to a branch in a particularly leafy tree for shelter and the companionship of those already roosting there.
When no more lightning came and only the distant rumbles of thunder remained to compete with the drumming of the rain, the man reluctantly retreated inside, locking the door behind him for the night. The pigeons nervously watched the sodden figure disappear and relaxed, preening.
The heatwave finally broke. The rain lasted most of the short summer night and the morning world seemed fresh, rejuvenated and sparkling; concentrated light twinkled through raindrop diamonds on leaves and flowers. With the new day a new cycle could begin.