My hydrangeas act out summer’s story, as their bleaching pastel blooms wilt sadly in the beating August heat. I shut myself inside, windows and doors closed tight to keep out the relentless humidity. Shutters are put down, darkening my rooms. Curtains are closed to nature’s drama.

Electric bills be damned. I turn the clunky old window air conditioner in my dining room up to its highest setting, and use a box fan to direct the cooler air into my kitchen. Living in a house built in the 1800s is charming nine months of the year, when we can pretend to be Victorian aristocrats cozying up around our fireplace and drinking hot toddies. But for the three warmest months, we mar our gorgeous old home with unsightly air conditioners, rattling, dripping and hanging from the windows, spoiling the house’s classic coastal New England vibe.

It’s been hot and abnormally dry for weeks in the Northeast. No measurable precipitation yet this month, and none predicted in the 10-day forecast. Our lawn, once a luscious emerald-green blanket, is now patchy with tufts that have turned a sickly flaxen hue, highlighting the stubborn weeds that survive in contrasting shades of olive.

Somehow, even without a drop of rain in weeks, humidity is constant, thickening the air, dampening my upper lip and unmentionable areas and turning my hair into a ball of frizz. I feel wasteful being indoors, missing out on these fleeting summer days, but it’s just too damned hot and muggy to stay out there for more than a quick trip to the mailbox.

Working at my laptop in the kitchen, I find myself wishing for rain. Not only to satisfy the theatrical hydrangeas and the parched grass, but also for the refreshing break that rain brings during long hot summers like this. Sitting at the kitchen island, I close my eyelids like shutters, withdraw into my darkened, air-conditioned cocoon and envision a mid-August thunderstorm...

The first signs appear in the low clouds that gather on the horizon. Usually, their formations are dark, thick and featureless, but today, fluffy marshmallows grow towering and ominous, heralding more than just rain. I walk out onto our porch to watch the developing spectacle.

As the clouds expand and come closer, the muggy, stagnant air abruptly shifts as if it’s being inhaled by a giant in the sky. I am suddenly aware of the scent of earth. The needy soil gives off its distinct musty fragrance like pheromones to attract the coming storm.

I hear a rumble in the distance as the giant takes another step towards me. He still seems so far away, I’m not afraid, but rather excited to see him approaching. There’s a flash in my peripheral vision. The fine hairs on my arms lift off my skin just in time for a surprise — a cool breeze rolls out like a red carpet making way for the superstar’s arrival.

The air is now crisp, electric, as flashes and rumbles close in like paparazzi. I feel a drop, then another, before a “CRACK!” splits the sky, sending me back indoors to watch from my window.

The giant has arrived. His thunderous entrance is not gracious or polite, but he brings gifts for everyone. A deluge of rain pours down over the hard earth, softening soil and soaking roots, feeding thirsty flora and fauna, and cooling searing sidewalks, streets, asphalt and chrome.

With rain pelting the windows and thunder rumbling over the house, I don’t feel wasteful being indoors anymore, because seeking shelter is justified during a summer thunderstorm. I curl up with my laptop, safe and sound.

The giant departs as quickly as he arrived, and as his cloak of clouds trails off with him, the sun appears again. For once, I am glad to see her. I walk out onto the porch again, and along with the hydrangea blooms, I turn my face upward in appreciation.

The actors in this neighborhood play are the same, but the story has changed dramatically.

I see steam rising from the street. I smell the wet grass. I hear birds chirping excitedly. Rested and refreshed, my world is alive again.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com