Summer days pass me slowly. They come on quick, like the weight of our thick air; they make for long goodbyes. Slow, dramatic sunsets and humid, heavy nights. Southern summers are like a good friend. Southern summers stick. The heat suffocates you, but almost in a good and loving way. As if to say, “I’m here” or “I’m with you”. My friend Chase tells me that he’s “with me”, and I can’t help but wonder what he’d think about a Louisiana summer. Because down here, nothing’s as close as the thick hot air. You breathe it in and there’s no getting rid of it, even if you’d like a quick break. Outdoors, it sticks. Indoors, it sticks. Because, like a good friend, it knows you need it. Because you’ve lived here your whole life and if you get away from it you’re just gonna come back. That’s how life is. You run away from the familiar stuff, thinking you’ll find comfort in something new. But you’re really just finding comfort in the familiar stuff, maybe just in a new place. Home is always home.
“Do not judge men by mere appearances; for the light laughter that bubbles on the lip often mantles over the depths of sadness, and the serious look may be the sober veil that covers a divine peace and joy.”
A shrewdness of apes A battery of barracuda A bellowing of bullfinches A kaleidoscope of butterflies An army of caterpillars A coalition of cheetahs A charm of finches A tower of giraffes A troubling of goldfish A bloat of hippopotamuses A party of jays A smack of jellyfish A mischief of mice A parliament of owls A company of parrots A prickle of porcupines An unkindness of ravens A crash of rhinoceroses A shiver of sharks A murmuration of starlings A wisdom of wombats