The storm ended the way serious storms always do, not gradually but all at once, like something that had made its point and seen no reason to continue. One minute the rain was pressing against the cabin walls with complete conviction, and the next it had retreated to a thin drizzle and then to nothing, and the park outside reappeared from behind it with the slightly surprised quality of a space that had been rearranged while it wasn't looking.
The cabin was quiet.
Mike stood at the small window and looked at the park reassembling itself in the wet evening light, the lawn dark and flattened, the tree line still dripping, the pavilion across the way beginning to empty as people confirmed the rain was actually over and started making decisions.
