The air in the valley was thick and still, like a held breath. By 4:00 PM, the cicadas had stopped their rhythmic buzzing, and the sky had turned an eerie, bruised shade of violet.
If you're looking for a different kind of 'stormy' story, check out this preview of Sarah MacLean's recent novel, where family drama and a literal storm island collide:
As quickly as it arrived, the roar faded to a steady drip-drop. The clouds broke, letting a final, golden sliver of sunlight hit the wet pavement, making everything glisten as if coated in glass. summer storm
Jagged white veins pulsed across the clouds, illuminating the woods in strobing flashes.
The heat was gone. The air was sweet and sharp with the smell of wet pavement and crushed grass. Silas opened the door, and the cat finally stepped out, sniffing the brand-new world. The air in the valley was thick and
A deep, bone-rattling growl that followed so quickly you could feel the vibration in your teeth.
Old Man Silas sat on his porch, watching the horizon. He didn’t need a barometer; he could feel the pressure in his knees. "She’s coming," he muttered to the cat, who was already huddled by the door. The clouds broke, letting a final, golden sliver
On the porch, Silas watched the gutters overflow, the water cascading like mini-waterfalls. For twenty minutes, the world was nothing but noise and water. It was a violent, beautiful cleansing. The Aftermath