Trying to name the stillness before a storm breaks

There's a particular silence on the river about an hour before thunder rolls in. The water looks like it's holding its breath, and I catch myself doing the same. I've stood in it a hundred times but I still can't find the right word for what that moment actually holds — it's not peace, not exactly waiting. Lately I've been paying more attention to it than to the fishing, which probably says something I'm not ready to unpack.