Sketches of the South

It’s on days like today that I understand my laziness, my hesitance to move, to do anything but bask and take in this hot Georgia sun, to await cool breezes petting my skin and dancing through my hair and through the shimmering leaves, carrying the sweetness of roses and gardenias and dying lilies and fresh-mowed grass, of simmering pine and leafy trees of deepening green, soaking up the sun as I do….

On days like this, I don’t even wish to speak, to disturb this lovely prelude to summer.  I sit and watch glistening leaves and pale petals, and listen to nothing:  tinkling wind chimes and calling birds, and the soft percussion of leaf clapping upon leaf.  Every moment of this is a vacation – with the dilettante-like luxury of never needing to go anywhere, of never wishing for escape, of never tiring of the same things:  blue skies and billowing clouds and fluffy roses.

It’s a cultural thing, I’m sure:  this laziness arising with drawled speech and meandering stories and long supper tables laden with food at small white churches and old family reunions. The Old South is alive and well in me, and in this land; and, returning to this lazy world after half my life spent no farther south than Southern Ontario, the scents and sensations and simplicity of this land are irresistible.

The trees beckon, waving full boughs to those inside, whispering songs to which no words can reply.

So I return, realizing that I always return, always wished to return to this place that breeds laziness in the most beautiful of ways.

For Sarah M.

Author: meredithlmm

Entrepreneur • Writer • Poet • Lover of Great Wine, Food, Cocktails, & Brewed Beverages • My best friends are feline 🐈🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛ View all posts by meredithlmm