Quite frankly, my dear...

There's water in the air. I can feel it. Having been born a Southern Belle and lived in the Deep South all my life, I am accustomed to the high humidity that hangs over much of the South in the summer. The heat can have an almost oppressive feel to it with all that humidity behind it. The trick is to yield to it, to go with it, to bask in it.

I went into a store the other day and their air conditioner was cranked so high that I had goosebumps on my arms and legs. I almost wished I had brought a sweater into the store with me. When I went back outside, it was a relief to be enveloped in the warmth again. I got into my car, which felt like a sauna after having been closed-up in the direct sunlight while I was in the store. I closed the door to the car and just sat there, feeling the heat penetrating my skin and warming my heart as much as my body.

Yeah, there's water in the air, more than is usual this time of year. I can feel it. Hell, I can see it, hanging like a haze all around me, enveloping everything in a dense, moist wrapper. I love the South, but I thank the Goddess that I don't have to wear a hoop-skirt and petticoats as I am transported back to my Tara, as did my foremothers.

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