Arizona's monsoon season officially starts around June 15, but it can be well into July before it shows up here. Here of course meaning, the Verde Valley. Up north, though not as far north as the Grand Canyon. Think, in the neighborhood of Sedona.
June is, um, challenging here. Our springtime is glorious and short-lived. By the end of May, it's getting warm. By June it's just plain hot. Hot, and dry, and dry, and dry. The plants that burst into joyful green to celebrate Spring start to wilt, droop, even wither under a coating of dust. I set out dishes of water for the rabbits and quail; they're empty in an hour or two. The birds that sing in the early morning fall silent as the day wears on. The dust coats your car and house inside and out; it covers your clothes, your hair, your skin, clogs your sinuses and makes your eyes hurt. It's kinda depressing.
But there's always the hope for the monsoon season. Something to look forward to, yes? Maybe?
Some years the monsoon is more of a non-soon. A couple years ago it was like that; one or two fairly good storms early on, followed by... a return of the heat and dryness. I think it was disappointing, and troubling, for everyone. I certainly thought so. I've always loved rain. Water from the sky is just special. It feels different, smells different, tastes different. Better than any other. One reason why I loved Oregon so much was the rain.
So today I was looking forward to the predicted somewhat early appearance of the year's monsoon here. Those silver-grey clouds piling up in a crystal blue sky. I like to imagine that the sight of such a sky may have inspired the Native American artists of the southwest to combine their turquoise gems with silver. Creating the jewelry I cherish and wear every day.
I spent the morning outside, setting up strips of shade cloth out in my poultry pen. It was hot and humid, the chickens and ducks were hiding in the shady corners looking a little dispirited. There was a sound of thunder from a distance; a very brief pattering of raindrops. The rain was over before it had really begun. I went back inside. I was painting on the new skull when I heard the dogs whining to come indoors; the rain had started for real. Of course I ran outside. Had to do my annual monsoon-welcoming happy dance. In which I stand out there with my face tilted to the sky and my arms outstretched, in gratitude for the big, soft, cooling, fat raindrops. I probably looked like an idiot. I didn't care. It felt glorious.
Glorious, right up until a ginormous crack of thunder sounded right overhead. And the gentle cool drops became a cold, pelting torrent. I can take a hint. Back indoors my dogs looked at me like I was insane. Probably thinking, ew, she smells like a wet human.
The wind gusted very hard at times; a couple of my windchimes need repaired now. My son discovered a new leak in his bedroom window frame. Amazingly, the power did not go out as often happens when we have a thunderstorm. Now we must be aware of flash floods, and avoid driving through washes that are underwater. Take the usual precautions for possible power outtages, make sure we have adequate bottled water and lamp oil. Stuff happens. After a couple hours the storm let up, we even had a double rainbow just before sunset. The air was perfumed with the aromas of wet chaparral, mesquite, and red rock. The temperature had dropped by about twenty degrees. I stepped back outside a little while ago; it's thundering and raining again.
According to the National Weather Service, this year's monsoon season is predicted to be robust. Stay safe, everyone.
www.weather.gov/…
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