Duncan and I stood on the edge of the park, the sky on one side of us blue and hot, a wide, foaming wave of churning black clouds on the other. The wind had picked up and tried to whip the cap from my head, so I pulled it off, scrunched it up and crammed it into my back pocket. The sporadic whipping of the wind was just as hot as the air rising from the street before us. Duncan leaned into it and his nose twitched as he pulled the scents from it: paint from the buildings, fast food from the Carl's Jr., freshly mowed grass from the golf course and a myriad of other things I know nothing about. I looked up at the slowly breaking wave, its crest white and jagged, miles high and as wide as the Colorado sky and pulled on the leash.
"Let's get inside, Dunc. There's a storm coming and I don't like the look of it one bit." He resisted until the first faint clap of thunder rolled across the sky and into the ground. Then he turned and we hurried back to the safety of the apartment.
There is a storm coming and I do not know where we will land.