I remember when I was a kid and I used to read this book called Thunder Cake. It was one of my favorite books about a young girl and her grandma watching a storm come in on a farm. The grandma would count the number of seconds between the lightning and thunder as she ran around putting animals in their pens, preparing for the rain, and gathering materials to bake a "thunder cake."
Maybe it was this book that made me obsessed with sitting outside and anticipating a big rain. Since it's officially rainy season here, a big rain comes every few days, usually in the afternoon. And to me, there is absolutely nothing better than sitting, watching, listening, and waiting for those storms to roll in over the hills that surround our village.
The day usually begins with an unbearable, humid heat that makes you sweat uncontrollably and feel absolutely miserable. Then, just when it reaches a point when you don't think you can take it anymore and you resort to just sitting absentmindedly, dark grey clouds form and slowly take over the endlessly blue skies.
Next starts the slow, constant rumble of thunder, getting louder and closer with every minute. You know the rain is getting near when you see a greyish blue haze easing in above the hills. Then the wind picks up blowing away the awful stagnant heat that has been hanging in the air all day. It throws around the heavy mango trees, thick with green fruits (and usually knocks down a few ripe mangoes too). Once you see the underside of the leaves on the trees and they're blowing around uncontrollably, you know it won't be long. That's when you rush around outside, gathering clothes from the line, taking down solar panels, putting away anything you don't want getting wet. 
And then, finally, you hear the slow patter of little drops on the tin roof. Usually this accelerates quickly and before you know it, the pounding is so loud that you can't hear yourself think and water is blowing in all the windows. Huge claps of thunder obliterate the sky and make it feel like the world is crashing down on you, shaking all of our little mud houses. By then, the yard is probably flooding with water rushing off in instant rivers down the slanted, hard clay ground, and a cool breeze fills the air. Ah, relief. That night you know it will be cool, and you'll be reaching for a blanket.
