Desert Life

I need to paint sunshine outside your window, encourage you to open, the way the very sight of you opens every part of me. I need to stir the birdsong, feed you on this music, while I hunger for your words. I need to draw the lightning, bright flash amidst the downpour, revealing me where I stand.
Here.
The rain pounds sand into mud, washing foundation away from your feet, sucking you in. We’re surprised by this deluge, another reminder of our constant battle not to drown before the sun returns.
Here.
Desert is a land of extremes; rain never comes as a gentle mist. Drink in great gulping gasps before it’s gone. This torrent is all we get, before the sun returns in hot bright glory. We’re made for this. We belong.
Here.
We know how to send our roots down deep, hang on through the monsoon, find life during drought. We know to make use of every detail; we dare not waste one opportunity. This is the land of survivors. We are.
Here.
When soaking rain leaves you too heavy to move, just open your eyes. Wait with me for that magic paintbrush flicking color across this barren landscape, like stardust across the sky. For opportunity.
Here.

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