Gun metal gray and Tyrian purple cumulus nimbus towers embrace the sky, making the thirsty desert, decorated with red plateaus and indigo mountain ranges seem small in comparison.
Arroyos scar the ancient land, dreaming of the rivers they once were as the cicadas, whirring and buzzing in the heat, fill the soupy air with constant sound. A jackrabbit, his large ears fanning above his inquisitive head, scans for predators from the relative safety of a prickly pear patch, before sprinting to a new hiding spot. Nearby, Gambol’s quail call out to one another.
The low rumble of thunder shakes the ground. Lightening slices through the air, a Navajo weaver creating an intricate pattern across the now inky blanket of the sky.
The wind picks up and a few heavy drops fall. Then, in a matter of seconds, all living things are at the mercy of a violent deluge. The arroyos are no longer dreaming but raging from bank to bank with swift moving water. The thunder gets louder, making the heart skip a beat as it reverberates through your body and you shiver from the delicious coolness of it all.
The intoxicating scent of sage, creosote, earth, and rain fills the air and your spirit, making you feel peaceful and joyful at the same time. Your senses are alive, as the storm heals your heart and then trails slowly away, the clouds catching the light of the setting sun.
The sky is painted in blushing peaches and pinks as dusk creeps quietly in and the moon starts to rise, a storyteller surrounded by all her starry children. In the distance, a flash and rumble hint at a nocturnal serenade.