The air is hot and still, even at 8 in the morning, with promises of an even more oppressive swelter as the day goes on. While there is little circulation in the air, there is an intense throbbing sound, as the crickets and cicadas pulse out their notes. There is perhaps no more quintessential sound in the summer South than the sound of the insects droning in the background. The crickets, with their higher pitched chirp, inhabit the low grasses and bushes, and do quite a good job at filling the air with sound. It's the cicadas, however, that dominate the trees, and perhaps its because of their higher vantage point, that they rain sound down on you.
Dogs are de rigeur in the South.
No front yard is complete without its furry guardian. The more gentle dogs are allowed to laze in the grass, without being fettered by chains, and give a token, open eye to passersby. There are a pair of scruffy Chows further down the road, however, who were sensibly chained to trees, as they set up quite a ferocious show as I approached them. Quite the defenders of the home front they were, as they seemed to have a plan of action agreed between them. The first dog bounced, barked, and made quite an effort to break his chain as I passed his territory.