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Living in the Desert Southwest, where the sun shines relentlessly, and the smell of dust fills my senses, I often find myself daydreaming, imagining the crash of waves on a soft, sandy shore or the rush of a cold mountain stream. Dave and I have talked of moving away someday…moving someplace near water, and someplace where it rains.

People who visit during the summer monsoon season laugh at those of us living here. They find our preoccupation with the potential for rain comical. My in-laws came out from Michigan one stormy August, and couldn’t understand why we kept the television tuned to the Weather Channel. We kept watch for the massive dust storms and the violent thunderstorms that kick up with little warning.
I love the smell of rain. I suppose it’s really just the smell of hard baked ground suddenly wet that I like. I miss the green of the Colorado mountains, and the fierce, sudden thunderstorms that blow up and soak everything and disappear just as quickly.

With the coming of El Niño, we’re supposed to have an unusually wet winter. We’ve gotten a taste of it, as clouds have raced over the Valley, and sudden showers have surprised us off and on all day today.
This evening, in addition to the blissful coolness coming through the open doors, I can hear the pat-pat of rain drops on the Sissoo tree. It makes for a wonderful night’s sleep.

Tonight, I am grateful for the soothing sounds and smells of a desert rain shower.

  
  

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