The best the forecast can do for the next few days is give us 'patchy fog' overnight tonight and Sunday night. Yesterday was warm and still. This morning is hot and breezy. The cicadas are going hard. The grass is growing. Thursday's storms mattered. They did. I promise. If you walk backwards in your minds, boys and girls, you can remember them. The wind. The frequent lightning. The red warnings gliding across the bottoms of your screens. But that forecast—all those nineties coming, those storm chances so few and far between, the fog—we are so rarely forecast fog—all these dashes—let's leave it there for now, shall we?