The special effects are several warp speeds beyond Hollywood. Shimmering heat turns blacktop highways into mirage pools of water, that suddenly vanish as soon as you get close.
Thunderstorms make the sky flash like a strobe light in a nightclub.
The Ohio river slithers by like a languid serpent, changing moods from frog-pond green to sparkling gunmetal blue. Memorial Day weekend is the first bell in a season that is one long playground recess. But the calendar is uninformed. It can't hear the lazy bee-drone of lawnmowers, soft evening laughter on backyard decks, the sizzle of steaks on a grill or the splash and squeal of kids in a pool. It can't smell oiled baseball gloves, cut grass, sun lotion, beech sand, blooming flowers, melting tar or the rumor of rain on a breeze that makes leaves huddle and turn their silvery backs to the gathering storm.