A storm is pending.
Clouds build on the horizon, shades of gray darkening as layer upon layer obscure the sun.
The deer have hidden themselves, no longer standing around the watering hole. The birds are quiet too.
The movement of air is so subtle that even the tiny, thin leaves of the mesquite no longer tremble.
Not a sound, but for the fly trapped between the window and shade above my computer and desk.
It is the lull before the storm.
My anticipation is growing.