Sonoran Rain Song




By Collection of Dr. Bill Hooke, NOAA (ret.). (NOAA Photo Library: wea03529) [CC BY 2.0 ( or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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.

Half-eclipsed super blood moon over the Santa Catalinas, Oro Valley, Arizona


Shield Maiden

Shield Maiden

by Amy C. Evans


She sat quietly, her silver threaded hair flowing, her green gaze entranced, watching the follies of those who have been tamed, who never in their life took a chance, who settled for the mundane.

She has walked a difficult path and has known pain and failure and battled hard, her light against the darkness of a world unbalanced and cold.

There have been times when she has fallen, felt shattered and forlorn, but off the ground she has risen, her soul intact, her heart scarred, but not hardened and broken.

Willing to stand with the weak, the freak the disenfranchised. Those who do not fit into a world grown intolerant of all who do not conform; of those who still dream dreams, and with an altruistic vision imagine, a time when all are accepted, no matter their creed, no matter their reflection.

She is a shield maiden like those who came before, she fights for those who, not unlike her, have been told they are not the norm, they do not fit in, these outsiders, these wild things, the ones who refuse to be anything other than who they are.

Her head unbowed, her strength renewed she wipes away her tears,

Her shield of faith banishes all her crippling fears.

Her eyes flash fierce, her resolve restored,

She will always and forever be an untamed wild elemental being, gypsy-footed and free.

A myth and a lore? No, she is real.  She is you.  She is me.