So here's the thing. By the end of March, I'm pretty much done with winter. I like the saying 'April showers bring May flowers' and around here we might get some really great storms. Good storms. Noisy clappers. Then on the same day the sun will come out and force all the little sprigs and daffodils to rise to the occasion. That's what I like. A little sunshine after the rain.
On my two days off it was dark. All day long the clouds just hung there, like a ceiling of charcoal gray sadness. It spit water from the sky enough to make everything wet, but it couldn't quite make up its mind whether to actually produce a real rainstorm or just look like it should. Who doesn't love an honest to goodness rainstorm?
I think about the SW deserts probably more than the average person. I have fond memories of being in the Sonoran desert during a downpour. Standing in the dirt next to giant saguaros, face to the sky, rejoicing in the rain and the warmth and that unforgettable scent. You know what I'm talking about.
It's these kinds of days when I miss living in the Old Pueblo. I wanted to be in the desert. I needed bright colors and Greens. Lime greens. Jade succulent cactus paddles. So, I got out my stack of Arizona Highways magazines that the Library gives to me after they have done their time on the shelves. Page after page that magical land came alive and I was there!
The urge was strong to put color on paper. Those fushia and violet prickly pear saved me from another day of moping and longing. I did it. Even with the blasted cast still on my hand, I found solace and relief and I went to the desert for awhile that day.