I was never especially enamored of deserts until I started going to Tuscon every year to do a show. Seeing the same place over and over. Now I find myself entranced by the subtle beauty here.
January, February, March. Those are the months to visit the desert. I don't think I would enjoy July or August. As I drive through I can see the areas where rain has been a recent visitor. There is a dusting of green as plants open out for a week or so. The flowers in the desert have to be sought out, but when you find them you they are so amazing.
In the desert there are no trees to hide the mountains. You can see their bones, tell their history in their form. You don't have to be a geologist to read the story. The sharp edges of newly exposed rocks. Rounded forms tell of water or wind wearing the mountains down. Strata, parallel layers in the rock, speak of time under the sea, building with silt and sand, and compressing to rock.
But there is room here to be different. Odd art, stories of unusual lives. Odd bits of history that could happen nowhere else. I will be exploring this in my next few posts.
In the desert there are no trees to hide the mountains. You can see their bones, tell their history in their form. You don't have to be a geologist to read the story. The sharp edges of newly exposed rocks. Rounded forms tell of water or wind wearing the mountains down. Strata, parallel layers in the rock, speak of time under the sea, building with silt and sand, and compressing to rock.
People live differently in the desert. Things are slower here. Things don't rot or rust here. But nature does not forgive stupid here. One carries water, everywhere. You check your gas level before driving out of town.
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