The long lazy southern summer is upon us. Every where you turn there is another sign. Late afternoon thunderstorms. Cicadas mating sounds echoing off the trees. The thickening of the air with every breath you take.
I firmly believe it is the summers that truly turn someone southern. Something about the thick air, the front porch swinging with a paper fan and glass of sweet tea, that just changes your soul. The long conversations with friends as you suck the head of the spicy crawfish. Your bare feet on the cold summer grass as the kids run outside to play kick the can before the street lights turn on.
Just thinking of my summer evenings makes me weak at the knees. The warm caress of the summer evening wraps itself around me as I walk down my quiet neighborhood road breathing in the quiet whispers of the night.
I have a torrid love affair with the south as you all know. It is one of those passionate relationships that is either ecstasy or turmoil. Almost an addiction. No matter how bad the south treats me, I just cannot seem to walk away. I yearn for her even more. I want those wide open spaces, and beds of wild bluebonnets the dixie chicks always sing of. Just not the cowboy that comes with it.