Ashley, Megan.

In ANYLF's ongoing All The Months At Once promotion, welcome to April. Or June. I know Carolina August, friends and fans of weather, and while it's steamy out there, this ain't it: a morning thunderstorm belongs earlier on in the calendar, particularly one of that sort—the rain first, and then the lightning. Odd and odd. And getting huge as it tracks east: hang on out there, people. That thing's starting to look vaguely apocalyptic.

Back here on the Piedmont, the radar seems to be wanting to bubble us up another round, so let's keep that chance of rainfall in your forecast through the afternoon and evening hours. The fancies say there's cooler, drier air out there somewhere, Septemberish air, that's supposed to push us into something livable over these next few days, but out in front what we're getting is surely something else, is a warm washcloth, a cup of tea, another storm.

This is the last weekend of summer. Next weekend, there will be that pitted feeling in the stomach, the bird in the back of the head singing a song about MW and TTH and marking papers and calling roll and suspecting already that you'll never really be able to remember which one's Ashley and which one's Megan. Oh, Ashley and Megan. There are days, I confess, where I'd cut off a toe in order to keep from ever needing to know which one of you is which.