Well, it is my least favorite season overall, but there is a wonder to summer in the south.

It's easing into it here, and the serenade of ciacadas blend with the songs of birds and frogs at various points in the day. The air is almost alive in its thickness as it wraps sticky arms around you, soothing your aches as well as drawing sweat to glisten on your brow. That sweat drips down, caressing your skin in a frantic attempt to cool you.

The smell of greenness and damp earth tickle the nose as much as gnats and mosquitoes tickle everything else. But you can sit in a swing, or a rocker and let the world wash around you, as sunlight dances with the leaves in an attempt to seduce the ground into giving up moisture.

The summer is graceful and smooth in a way winter can never achieve. It is alive and in the full strength that spring yearns for. It mocks the dwindling pulse of autumn from its sweltering throne.

Summer is less a comfort than a bear hug from a titan big brother that loves you a little too much, but even that crushing and breath stealing embrace is love as well.