It’s a rare rainy day here in the Desert Southwest. Ominous clouds are rolling across the sky, with glimpses of bright blue peeking through occasionally.
The smell of rain is one that instantly catches my attention. It’s distinct and unusal enough that I can’t help but watch the drive outside my window for telltale drops. The endlessly sunny days can make one weary and wish for the rumble of thunder and the patter of rain on the leaves outside our bedroom door.
The clouds are moving quickly, and I fear that it will be a short-lived storm. Living on the far west side of the Valley of the Sun, storms often get pushed futher east and miss our side of town entirely.
This will be one of the last storms until the late summer monsoons crash in. The desert plants will soak up every drop, and within a couple of days, those that haven’t been burned back by the heavy frosts will explode into riots of color. The sage bushes and the wildflowers that scatter like weeds will fill whole yards and line the roads along the freeways.
Soon, we’ll be driving with our windows down, noses searching the breezes for the heavenly scent of orange blossoms.
Even now, as I pause to glance out of the window, I can see holes in the clouds, to the blinding blue reaching through. The clouds remind me that the sky is more than just a blank blue sheet, and their layers give me the sense of how much further the heavens reach.