Sun City

Heat.

I never grow tired of the desert, even though I am a daughter of the rain. I do not crave the heat, or love to lay out in the sun, but there is something about the desert calls out to me. Perhaps it is the contrast, that no trees obscure the view, no sinking into mud with every step, no dense clutches of vegetation or low-hanging clouds. Instead, there are coyote, saguaro, and scrappy stands of tiny trees that though smaller in stature are no less impressively old than even the tallest of Northwest Douglas firs. I enjoy the resilience of desert life, the necessary lengthening of timescales. In the desert, water will not come to you daily, or even by the month, best to savor thirst, celebrate it, and turn your mind from longing. The desert reminds me to accept the life I have been given, to make do. It illuminates the struggle of ordinary things and the value of simple things. There is great joy and beauty in the procurement of the necessities of life. It is, after all, a wonder. Try not to take it for granted.

The Great Wide Open IV- Some Like it Wet

Rain.

It doesn't matter how many people tell you about it, or how emphatic or dramatic their telling of it may be, until you witness half an inch of rain in less than an hour in what is usually a dry-as-bone desert, you can't really believe it.

Observations:

There are more low areas on a seemingly flat property than one may think. 

The low areas can hold more than four inches of standing water.

This is important as the door starts at 4.5 inches.

Metal roofs make lightning more exciting.

Continuous lightning and thunder really do mean the storm is centered above you.

The neighbors house is the same color as rain, or close enough to disappear into it.

Frogs, like humans, think the carport is a great place to stay dry. 

The Sun, The Sun

Shine.

Like the birds I am flying south in winter. I am fleeing the gray days, the low clouds and the press of winter cold for sun and cacti and the company of good friends. I love the vast deserts of Arizona, the rock yards, the saguaro, the stoic sense of endurance that comes with such harsh conditions. I relish the big sky and the forlorn cries of the coyote. I am grateful for the time to step away, slow down, and view the world from another context. The escape will do me good.

Photograph:

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Saguaro_Sunset.jpg

Shoes and Strings and Ceiling Wax

Tired.

A presentation of irony:

It is 6:30 in the morning and still dark outside the cabin. There is a stiff, frigid wind bringing in the first snow of the season. It began overnight as a light dusting but has thickened now, and has taken on an icy quality, the flakes stinging as they hit our faces. Inside it is still warm, there is coffee dwindling in cups, and the lights cast a comforting glow out the windows as we finish loading up the truck, drain the water lines, unplug the appliances and put the cabin to bed. At 7:01 we climb in, congratulating ourselves on finally running on time. The moment the truck starts to roll back we know there is something not right, but it takes us the whole length of the drive to figure out that it's a flat. Completely flat. Tire hanging off the rims flat. We sigh, and slowly pull back towards the cabin carefully parking by the outside lights. When we open the door to turn them on though, nothing. Click, nothing. Click click click, nothing. In the five minutes since leaving the power has gone out with the storm. We will do this by flashlight. From behind us we hear the deep voice of our old-man neighbor with whom we share the property. "Welcome to the high desert." He chuckles. "You want me to get the air jack?" 

It was fine. It was fine and easy and quick and dark and very very cold. It was a late start, dirty clothes and stiff fingers. It was fine, and the moment we packed back up to roll out, the power came back on. Welcome to the high desert.

Photograph Courtesy of:

http://www.junk-king.com/locations/coloradosprings/tag/get-rid-of-old-tires/