The hush before a storm won't stop following me around

I keep coming back to that moment when the air goes still and the river sounds like it's holding its breath — the pause before everything lets go. It's not a dream exactly, more like a half-remembered one I can't shake: standing mid-current, nothing moving, waiting for a crack that never comes. I think I'm trying to name what that stillness is holding, and every time I get close, the thunder rolls in and I lose it.