Have the back streets faded to silent?

Have the dogs begun to bark?

Quick, get in, there's a storm coming.

The front room chair with the cushion that isn't supposed to be outside in the yard but is, because it's been so hot of late, is that in?

And the pile of winter boots left out to air next to it?

And those newly potted plants that can't cope with heavy rain yet?

Get them all in, the air's gone electric.

Thick thunder rolls, across a strange coloured sky.

Brings rain that's in such a hurry to get down it all comes down at once.

Rivulets of sparkling water, flowing off the tarpaulin. Pouring onto the parched concrete yard.

Wafting smells of petrichor.

Heatwave storms plough a deep furrow through the sky as they pass, that take a while for the atmosphere to settle.

It's the dramatically changing sound scenes such storms create that make them so rewarding to listen to.

The sheer intensity of an unbridled deluge.

The panoramic spatial thunder created as the lightning bolts explode vast volumes of air.

And the relief, after the storm has passed, expressed through the countless dripping drops of fallen water, from all the surfaces on which it fell.

Three movements. Three acts. Of a heatwave storm.

A powerful storm is like a piece of theatre.

It bends and redefines the meaning of time.

It suspends your belief in what is normal and your perspective on reality.

And when it's over, it leaves you feeling physically different to how you were before.

Different, and better.

* The Lento mics captured this storm as it passed over Hackney in North East London in early afternoon last week, after a long period of exceptionally hot and dry weather. The location is the back garden of a small terrace house. Temperature prior to the storm was 30 degrees. Humidity was 39%. A few months ago the humidity was typically between 80% and 90%.