As a desert rat, born and raised in the Great American Southwest, you would think I'd long for the green growth and riot of color that define less arid, more lush, even tropical climes. Sure, okay. I always enjoy my visits to South Louisiana, Georgia, the Caribbean, the Eiffel section of Germany where my mother's family lives. Where everything is indeed remarkably, impressively green and fulsome and splendid. But it all gets to be a bit much for me eventually.
Eventually, I begin to long for the desert.
Coming from someone like me for whom too much gorgeousness is never enough, it may seem a little odd that I actually prefer the muted browns and greens and grays of the desert landscape. But there's beauty in all this Spartan restraint of growth. Because desert exuberance, when it comes, is such a terrific surprise.
Like this morning, walking the dogs in the hills. Seemingly overnight, once bare ground has been transformed into a colorful carpet of these tiny, delicate flowers I think are called snakeweed.
And then later, going to feed the birds, I noticed these happy little creatures had managed to assert themselves in just the last day or so. No matter Friday's snowstorm and below freezing temps, there they are. Cheery and cheeky at the same time. You go, little tulips. Make my day and yours.