When it starts to rain, we run outside with buckets and turn it into a water-fight.
We fling it at each other, jump in puddles, and let the storm blow into our hair and faces until we’re sodden, sopping, soaked.
Uncle takes it a step further, unleashes the hose.
The humid air around us feels like it finally disperses, letting light and rain flicker through in equal parts.
The yard is a lake, and each of us is a chaotic island, caught in the grasp of the storm.