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    My South

     

     


     

    I like to hear the phrase, “Hello, child” even though I’m 40.  I like the comfort of eating warm plums right off the tree.  I like the hot summer rain that you can smell a mile away and that steams up from the asphalt in the afternoon.

    These things are like deep calling to deep, and they soothe a place somewhere in my soul that nothing else can reach.

    I like the sharp song of the cicadas, the chirps and croaks of frogs, the heavy, sweet smell of honeysuckle, the creak of a porch swing.  My mind unwinds to the trill of  “whippoorwill” and “bob white” across the evening and comes alive again as thousands of lightning bugs pierce the air with a Morse code all their own.

    My South.SONY DSC

    As the summer heat settles in, I watch the relentless humid progress of kudzu with its transformative powers, its ability to mask and drape, creep and cover until everything in its path becomes less of what it was, taking on some secret amorphous life for the summer. Looming, tangled, and unknown.

    I like the Southern quality of moving slow.  It looks a little like ambling.  And it might be.  But slow is important.  Like savoring.  Savoring every moment, every sight, every sound.  The quality of milking more out of the day than just the allotted 24.  The slow.  The sweet.  A quiet optimism.  Allowing time to unravel and reveal what we might not see.

     

    My South.

    Where our stories aren’t told too quickly, but ebb and flow and change as life itself does.  Where words are soft and still sound like yuh-luh and pill-uh.  Where chicken, okra, and tomatoes crackle in the cast iron, and we look at people in the eye.  A place where the steadfast figure of a man like Atticus still represents what we admire and hope to grow into.

    To feel your roots running deep and know your place in the world.

    My South.

    Strong, kind, generous.  Bound together by a rich history and many people.  A living, breathing thing.

    Dear Lord, may our hearts and minds still…

    and make time to notice…

    to savor…

    to breathe deeply…

    to tenderly lilt…

    at the slower pace of Our South.

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    Reader Interactions

    Comments

    1. Julie Anderson

      June 11, 2015 at 1:59 pm

      Beautiful…simply beautiful…so glad I know this South of yours!

      Reply
    2. Bambi McGaha

      June 11, 2015 at 2:08 pm

      So the love welled up so deeply in my heart upon reading this that tears came to this Southern Belle’s eyes.. Ain’t it the truth now? Bless your heart for these wonderful words.

      Reply
    3. Shannon

      June 11, 2015 at 2:39 pm

      I could hear your voice when I read this. My friend I am so proud of you. It made me tear up a little. I love being from The South. Thank you for this.

      Reply
    4. anna smith

      June 13, 2015 at 6:32 am

      So beautiful! Brought back such sweet memories of my grandmother. So glad to be part of the south.

      Reply
    5. stacey

      June 18, 2015 at 12:32 pm

      Gosh, ladies! You might make a grown girl cry. I love this place so. I am indescribably glad to know wonderful people who love and cherish this home of ours and all the things that make it special. ~hugs~

      Reply

    Trackbacks

    1. A Nostalgic Summer Picnic To Celebrate the 4th - a southern discourse says:
      June 23, 2017 at 11:41 pm

      […] more southern summer nostalgia visit: My South here at A Southern […]

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