Summer Rainstorm

A wood banister wraps around the porch. It’s faded, Granny Smith green with mildew and peeling paint. On a white wicker table, a glass jar of pomegranate iced tea sits. Water beads veer down its sides. The clouds part and steam rises from the asphalt like a ghost story set in southern Mississippi. Dew drops settled on the tree leaves, afraid of falling to the ground, cling for their lives, until a warm breeze pushes them off their little green helipads.