We caught every downpour on our way to Québec.
Thunder rumbled overhead where dark clouds gathered and lightning flashed, the greyness seeping into our Honda Civic through the windshield washed with rain. Watery needles pummeled our car’s metal shell with deep reverberations so strong they reached my toes. It was nature’s drum beat, our background music. The radio, muffled as it was, tried to receive both French and English-speaking stations until it picked up pure static and died, leaving my only reprieve the droplets happily racing across my window.

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