The silence before the storm hits the river

Just sat on the bank at 10:30 this morning, waiting for the first rise. The air was so still it felt like the world was holding its breath. Then, a single drop hit the water—then another—and suddenly the whole valley was alive with sound. I’ve seen this pattern a hundred times, but it never stops feeling like a signal. Not just weather, but something older. Like the river knows when to wake up.