The Rain's Gonna Wash Away

It's 3:25 am by the clock in my system tray, and I am listening to the sound of rain on my roof. Thunder is muttering somewhere over the horizon like a bully promising to return. Global warming is turning Lake Erie into one big humidifier, and the Big Woods are thus becoming a rain forest. Every day comes hotter, greener, wetter. There are times when I have to wipe the sweat from my face just to gasp for breath.
HB is asleep in the room behind me. His face is weirdly green-blue in the light from the lava lamp, and when I glance over my shoulder at him I can make out the muted sheen of sweat on the curve of his shoulder. He worked hard today, and ate a huge supper before bed. He'll sleep like that for hours. A moth is fluttering over his head, probably drawn by the lava lamp. I was originally considering mosquito netting to set a certain atmosphere, but lately it sounds downright practical.
I wish I had something more to offer than this, one moment of rain on my roof and the peace under it. The kids are all fine: Katherine starts nursing school soon, Amber and Ricky have made up again for the umpteenth time, J worked with HB today, and the most colorful thing Aaron has done lately is to observe to Nick, who was manning the grill, 'that looks like some mighty tasty sausage you got there,' and Nick was both gracious and playful enough to offer him a bite. Everybody's getting along. It's summer, and hot, and they quarrel constantly, but I don't think I've ever known of a closer knit bunch of kids. Hopefully at least a little bit of that's my doing. I'd like to think so.
With so little to report, I will bid one and all adieu and goodnight. My best to you.

Title lyric from "3 am" by Matchbox 20.