I am, again, in the desert. I don’t know what it is about this area but it seems to have a hold on me like no other area ever has.
I find it odd, really, as this area isn’t, as far as deserts go, particularly beautiful. The Painted Desert, with its wild colors and intriguing rock forms, is a feast for the eyes.
The Sahara? Calm and deeply moving with its yellow flowing sands.
But the high desert of California? Not so much. Deep in the summer, the ground is dusty and brown-gray. Even the hardy creosote have lost a bit of color.
But, and there is always a but isn’t there? But, come the spring, those two sweet weeks so very early in the year, glorious colors in gold, purple, orange, and green bathe the hard-packed ground with such vibrancy it takes my breath away.
So, I guess, this is the reason I come back, to be a part of something so fleeting that, if I blink, I could miss it.
A bit like life, actually.