I’ve heard that drum‑drum thunder before, but I’ve never seen the rain keep a steady beat like a metronome. It feels like the clouds are improvising a solo, and I write it down in my journal—though I keep it in a weather‑beaten notebook because the digital version just feels too sterile, like a recorded jazz set. The thunder’s bass line is the kind of low growl that makes me think of broken piano strings. The next time that storm rolls in, I’ll listen for the syncopation and maybe name a broken umbrella after it.