Dear Texas

It’s hot. And humid. Remember when the AC broke in the house? I hated you a little bit that night. But you wooed me back with your amazing Mexican food and enormous pizza. Why can’t you grow normal grass? It’s so deceiving in its delicious green-ness. But then I come closer and see that it’s just a bunch of weedy, prickly tufts covering the hard ground and home to thousands of tiny fire ants and lots of frightening little spiders. Everything is bigger here, and maybe also louder. In every tree or bush there is a chainsaw bug (or five?) sawing away at something. I have never heard such loud insects. (By the way, apparently they’re called cicadas, not chainsaw bugs. Although I think it’s a much more apt name.) I love your rain. Especially when I’m inside and I hear it pounding on the roof. It comes down so hard only for a few minutes, then it’s gone. But my favorite thing about you is your sky. You have the most beautiful sunsets. And clouds! If I could paint, I would paint your clouds. I feel like I could do it. Maybe because they already look painted on the sky up there. Except for that they move so unusually fast. You’re at your most beautiful, Texas, at about 6pm and a little overcast. When there are breaks in the massive dark clouds and the sun breaks through just the tiniest bit, shooting sunrays down. That’s when I think about how glad I am to be here.