In the suffocating Arizona heat, the sun paints a myriad of mirages upon the never-ending Sonoran Desert. The horizon is ignited in a cascade of pinks and reds at dusk, yet dark plumes of ominous clouds gather on the horizon. The air thickens, trembling in anticipation as if Mother Nature herself is holding her breath. Suddenly, the rapidly intensifying storm takes the impressionistic sunset hostage, plunging the sweltering July evening into an obsidian night. Thunder booms and rolls into the valley as palm trees and Saguaro cacti sway in the gusty wind. Lightning fissures the sky, illuminating the atmosphere with snaking white-hot streaks of electricity. The howling wind morphs into a violent gale, rattling the windows and roof tiles. Then the heavens open and unleash a torrential downpour upon the dry earth, humidity rushing in and sending the temperature into a free-fall.
I feel the rare rain cleanse my skin, washing away the stifling heat and offering reprieve to not only myself, but to the flora and fauna of the desert. With a gritty inhale, I bear witness an impenetrable behemoth of dust barreling across the valley. The colossal beige wall scrapes the sky and shifts the tides of the storm, washing the sky in a hazy orange. I retreat inside to watch the dust mercilessly sweeping and swirling sand with a relentless vehemence. Yet, as swiftly as it arrived, the storm’s ferocity dwindles into a light drizzle, and I step outside once more to behold the last rays of sun vanish beyond the horizon, the constellations now unobscured in the clear night sky. The air is thick with humidity and nostalgia: a fragrant fusion of damp earth and ozone, conjuring memories of bygone summers when I, a child with eyes lit up by wonder, marveled in awe as dust clouds swallowed the Earth and lightning waltzed across the sky.
These days, such monsoonal spectacles are a rarity with a mere few fleeting storms per summer where they once raged for days in a wild symphony of pelting rain and wailing winds; the cycle of the monsoon has grown quiet and erratic, and the smothering heat stretches farther and deeper past the summer months, seeping into days of red and orange painted leaves.
Once, the rhythm of Arizona’s monsoons was promised like a heart breathing life into the inhabitable desert, but like so many rhythms and patterns across the globe, it is growing faint. What will become of the Sonoran Desert when its pulse ceases to thrum? What will happen to the hearts of the people intertwined within its sacred cycles? Just as the dust storms leave a thin layer of dust on every surface, these particles course through the veins of Arizonans, and its acrid scent is one that brings us together. Indigenous groups learned to not only coexist with the monsoon cycle, but to celebrate it, and as it slips into obscurity due to the unrelenting force of climate change, so does Arizona’s cultural identity.
The monsoon season nourishes the arid land and vanquishes the threat of wildfires, yet the parched Earth’s thirst grows dire as the cycle weakens; The flora and fauna shrivel up and die as the rivers and lakes run dry. In faraway days, verdant explosions of life appeared in the wake of bountiful rains, the valley would transform into a lush and lively haven. Now, in the negative space left in their absence, I gaze upon a stripped-bare, arid desert in a grief-stricken silence where even the ancient Saguaros are growing feeble.
Where the rain falters, we are called to rise to the occasion and allow the desert to bloom again by remedying this disease with sustainable practices. In the heart of the Sonoran Desert, the waning monsoon cycle serves not only as a cautionary tale of what we stand to lose, but as a beacon of hope in times of despondency to rekindle our connection with Mother Nature. While the winds of monsoon season evanesce, a gust of change rises.
Author’s Note:
This piece is an homage to the Monsoon Season of Arizona, but also a call to action to help reverse the effects of climate change. As an Arizonan, I feel a nostalgic connection to the yearly monsoons; however, climate change has wreaked havoc upon Arizona’s climate and wildlife, and I wrote this piece to spread awareness about climate change and inspire action.
Addison Balthazor | 17 | United States of America
