Thunderstorms

Vivid in my memory, I am walking down a street.  It’s dark asphalt, pitted, but comfortably wide.  Houses on either side are mobile homes or small, dilapidated buildings  Hard-earned homes, struggles nonetheless rampant, and proud humble abodes.  The occasional large dog barks behind a wire or wood fence, cars litter the side of the road.  I am walking south (or is it north?), a victim to wandering lust.  Behind me the clouds billow, tendrils of wispy smoke reaching for my back.  But I walk forward, leaving the darkness behind.  I walk towards home, into the bright sunlight that so vastly contrasts with the weather behind me. 
My skin is sticky with the heaviness of the clouds, and I can smell the moisture in the air.  I feel the rain that is coming, the storm that is brewing at my back.  I KNOW what is coming and I am one with the aggression and the love that is behind the force of a rainstorm.

I used to remain awake at night, my face pressed against the glass.  I can’t forget how the thunder used to shake the window panes, the lightning that split the sky in half and raised the hairs on my arms.  I cannot forget these things, as they’re part of what I miss the most about Texas.                          

Storms.  There is no other time when the Earth feels so alive.  Mother Nature crackles, it booms, it sheds its healing tears on the Earth it has sworn to protect. 

Mother Nature, I miss you.  California’s sun is nothing compared to your Texas storms. 

I dream about running away to Texas,  buying a little farm,  and having a life that is mine. 
I always thought I was a city girl, but a Texas city girl simply means I am not a farm girl. 
This urban jungle is trapping me.  And I want to go home. 

To the conservatives.  The rednecks.  The Tejano culture.  The long, open roads.  The beautiful difference between the sprawling ranches and the towering skyscrapes that grace the main cities.  The friendliness.  The pride that comes with living in the only state that was once an entire COUNTRY.  Lol, even the accent. 

Texas, I miss you. 
And I promise, I will come home one day. 

-Inmate-