Where’s the thunder?

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We were promised thunder last night and a deluge to break the hold this oppressive heat has on life but it hasn’t happened. I lay awake last night, window open, waiting to hear the savage beast throw its lightning bolts to earth, piercing the heat-dense atmosphere, but there was none of it. Instead I’m looking out upon a weak, grey morning with the sun about to rise from behind the heavy sea. I look upon folded, sleepy flowers waiting to open and give themselves to the influence of the sun’s caresses and I’m exhausted. So I’ll go shortly and stand on the shore and pick my way over the rocks and the seaweed to sit awhile and breathe in the salty, stagnant decay. I’ll listen to the moan of the sea, the rumble of foghorns and dragging of chains. Gulls will squeal and wheel in the heavy air above me and wife-brewed coffee will be waiting for me when I get home.