Last night I read 'On Being Ill' by Virginia Woolf. She said that countless times the Sky plays out it's most beautiful shows to an empty house. ( ie. no one pays much attention)...So, I looked up and then around.

I saw a blue sky with only a speckled amount of clouds moving as one across the vastness, slow and steady. I saw love bugs high in the air and low to the ground. Flying, buzzing, aimlessly in love as one. I felt the sun on my bare skin, cool breeze to dry my sweat and cool my body. The air is sticky, warm and wet with summer. I smelled honey suckles, grass and the sweet southern air that's duplicated no where. I tasted chap stick, my mouth dry despite the humidity emcompassing me, and salt. I heard birds, all speaking their different languages and dogs in the yards of my neighbors five houses down.

The south as swooned me again on this Friday in 2009.