Dear First Day of Monsoon,
Thanks.
Thanks.
The clouds grew high in the sky and
then darkened. We saw it coming, but were still caught in the streets
as the massive drops fell and sizzled on the concrete. Months of dust
and heat were immediately washed from the city. Shop keepers and bar
tenders left their posts to stand in the doorway to smell and feel
the temperature drop. Lighting was all around, thunderously loud, and
movie-like in it's intensity. The winds came and pruned the palms and
streets turned into rivers.
The rain didn't stop abruptly as it
came. It lingered on, clouds shrouding the city's mountainous
backdrop. The cacti greened and expanded, the dusty trails darkened
and compacted, and rivulets became rivers. The water that fell onto
the landscape collected itself, it amassed as water has always done
upon the land – trickles meeting with other trickles, those
trickles finding yet another, then that creek continuing along dry
arroyos until meeting yet another, and soon enough the wash was full
and raging.
I knew where they water was going. I
have been to these places, these hidden places, where water has
gathered and stood strong against the desert heat. Deep in granite
canyons, lined with impervious rock, and protected by shadows, there
are pools that persist. These places are simple but special, they are
infrequent and alone. When we find them we are miners with finally a
speck of gold in the edge of our pan. Eureka!
Today these places, beat down by the
constant desert sun, and gasping not for air but for water, have been
rejuvenated.
Photos: 1) Araviapa Creek, 2)secret Galiuro waterfall, 3)Deejay Birch getting air into a hidden pool deep in the Blue Mountains