Hollywood got it wrong
Southern summers are not crickets and soft breezes and elegant lunches on sprawling front porches in white linen Southern summers are humidity that leaves trails of sweat running little paths down your spine a heat that as oppressive as it is inescapable Southern summers are swarms of mosquitos that rule both night and day and dot all exposed flesh with itchy red welts Southern summers are thick yellow coats of yellow oak pollen that settles on everything and stains your black car green Southern summers are dead grass in the yard crunching beneath your feet accented by the hum of cicadas and inchworms hanging from the trees with their sticky, invisible strings that are reminescent of spiderwebs Southern summers are hot breezes off black cul de sacs that plasters your sweaty hair to your sweaty forehead and chases you back indoors to the airconditioning
