As the blazing Arizona sun begins its languorous descent toward the distant mountains, the air tries without success to cool. Even after the sky bursts bright neon-orange with stains of pink and purple and varying shades of blue and the guardians fade to a dark presence, the stifling heat lingers, unwilling to yield, well into the night.
Sweating is just a fact of life in summer-time. Carrying a bottle of water wherever you go is a matter of life or death, at least it could be.
The lizards dart past and under a welcoming rock offering a smattering of shade, as quickly as their little toes will take them. How they can move that fast in such heat is an amazing accomplishment. They seem harried and nervous, as if the hounds of hell were searching them out. Not much else moves during the day. Siestas are commonplace among man and beast alike.
Saguaro stand tall seemingly without a care even in the most intense heat, miserly in their use of stored water. Who knows when the next rain will fall? Like sentinels they watch over all and record the inexorable passing of time. They have learned how to make the most of what they have, and how to make the most of what they are given.
Leggy plants with brave flowers do their best to enliven the landscape. Whites and yellows and pinks and purples soften the sharp spines of cactus and round the sharp edges of unyielding rocks. Their contribution is a feast to the eyes and thirsty soul, speaking poignantly of perseverance and steadfastness in the face of adversity. No matter the heat, no matter the lack of water, no matter the lack of soil. They stubbornly grow out of rock and lift their faces serenely to the sun that scorches their petals and fades their colors too soon.
The searing brightness bleaches out color. Arriving under a stand of Mesquite and Palo Verde trees color seems to pool there like small oases of painter’s palettes amidst a blinding washed out canvas. I measure my water. I want to make sure I have enough to get back without going thirsty.
Night-time is when cool-starved humans sit outside gazing at the deep black sky filled with stars and wonder at the magnificence of it all. Silent constellations with their silent messages attempt to reveal mysteries to deaf ears and blind hearts, and bats fly erratically back and forth snapping up unsuspecting bugs for their supper, and the still air is quiet.
In the distance a pack of coyotes spontaneously cry to the moon and their raucous cacophony sounds like the lost souls from Dante’s nightmare, jangling and disturbing in its longevity. Minutes tick slowly by and still they scream. Dogs bark their own displeasure at the ripping of the peaceful night veil. The bats continue to dip and flutter eating their fill. The constellations continue to quietly speak.
One last deep sigh of contentment and into the air conditioned house to finish out the evening and then to bed and then to rise again to the welcoming sun announcing a new day to enjoy and live.
