Southern Mother

This is foreign to me,
This sticky air I breathe.
This is familiar to me,
This sweat developing in the pits of my sleeves.
This is different than the life I know,
And there is more to this facade than it is willing to show.
The heat and the bugs greet me,
In a thick air that is hard to breathe.
I take the hit with confidence,
Knowing what kind of climate I am up against,
Before the clouds roll in to provide what seems like relief,
And I am left questioning my decision to leave,
The comfort of my coast and air conditioning.
The skies pour down the water I crave,
Leaving rivers and lakes through landscapes man made.
The onslaught of the skies continues to pour,
And I am caught in a rain that cannot be ignored.
I dance and embrace this foreign climate,
Making it apparent that I am incredibly out of place.
There is no excitement from those who are used to,
The assault that mother nature regularly puts them through.
But this foreign weather excites me,
Despite how much I am currently sweating.
There is a tangible thickness to the air,
And the overgrowth of nature everywhere.
The plants fueled by the intense sun,
And the air filled with an audible hum,
The bugs run wild without boundaries,
And the birds are happily signing.
There is a no sign of another mammal in sight,
And I am left to observe this lack of silence in peaceful sweating.
The air is thick not from the smoke that fills my lungs,
And my ears are filled with song not from the headphones I have plugged in,
The sweat pours down my back without any added effort,
And I am left to question how I can be so helpless,
In the face of the mother who created this.
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