luscious, verdant, sultry summer. its not quite the same in south florida, where the season starts in february and lasts until november. i miss georgia heat waves and the thick smell of hot pine needles and tall meadow grass. and most of all, i miss warm blackberries off the bush. the older i get, the more i feel a push to return home to the georgia piedmont.
summer in the south / paul lawrence dunbar
the oriole sings in the greening grove
as if he were half-way waiting,
the rosebuds peep from their hoods of green,
timid, and hesitating.
the rain comes down in a torrent sweep
and the nights smell warm and pinety,
the garden thrives, but the tender shoots
are yellow-green and tiny.
then a flash of sun on a waiting hill,
streams laugh that erst were quiet,
the sky smiles down with a dazzling blue
and the woods run mad with riot.