When you see something amazing, what do you do?
The other morning was an a-typical Arizona morning. We've recently received a series of rains, not the usual type of monsoon type rain, the after-effects of tropical storms leaving the Gulf of Mexico and Baja area type of rain. Although these storms lose a lot of their spin, they retain a ton of moisture. Sans house flattening winds.
When a couple of inches of rain hit the high desert at a rapid rate, the plant's root systems and gravity enter a race. Both desire to grab gratuitous amounts of water. The plants for survival, the gravity as a byproduct. Or is it smarter than that? Is the earth passive, does it adapt and change consciously, or is that an anthropomorphic type thought on my part? Either way, two nights ago, I found myself staring at the stars peeking through thick cloud gaps and listening to the roar of waters racing downwards through generally dry washes and canyons. Freight trains in the night. White water cleansing dead and dying from their lazy death beds, animal bones from where they dropped, and oops-I-forgot-to-move-it human items rolling over and intertwining with rocks and sand create a symphony of chaos that blasts off the canyon walls, sounds that rise to the mesas, sounds that say STAY home tonight! Or else.
On the way to my coffee the next morning, I noticed the valley below encased in fog. I emerged from the kitchen about ten minutes later to a deep, rain-filled valley embossed with the morning sun. I did the right thing. I stopped and took some pictures. Why wouldn't you stop and take a memory? Heck, even I share to social media these days. Not all are blessed with glorious views, and I am happy to share mine. This particular sunrise I posted to Instagram (apparently there was some kind of outage..?) You can find me there at cm_halstead or search for the #writerscave hashtag and my profile will appear. Share your photos and adventures with me. I will share mine as well.
When in doubt take the photo.
When a couple of inches of rain hit the high desert at a rapid rate, the plant's root systems and gravity enter a race. Both desire to grab gratuitous amounts of water. The plants for survival, the gravity as a byproduct. Or is it smarter than that? Is the earth passive, does it adapt and change consciously, or is that an anthropomorphic type thought on my part? Either way, two nights ago, I found myself staring at the stars peeking through thick cloud gaps and listening to the roar of waters racing downwards through generally dry washes and canyons. Freight trains in the night. White water cleansing dead and dying from their lazy death beds, animal bones from where they dropped, and oops-I-forgot-to-move-it human items rolling over and intertwining with rocks and sand create a symphony of chaos that blasts off the canyon walls, sounds that rise to the mesas, sounds that say STAY home tonight! Or else.
On the way to my coffee the next morning, I noticed the valley below encased in fog. I emerged from the kitchen about ten minutes later to a deep, rain-filled valley embossed with the morning sun. I did the right thing. I stopped and took some pictures. Why wouldn't you stop and take a memory? Heck, even I share to social media these days. Not all are blessed with glorious views, and I am happy to share mine. This particular sunrise I posted to Instagram (apparently there was some kind of outage..?) You can find me there at cm_halstead or search for the #writerscave hashtag and my profile will appear. Share your photos and adventures with me. I will share mine as well.
When in doubt take the photo.
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