It rained today in New Mexico.  That doesn’t happen as much here as it does in a great many other places.  The desiccated land rests patiently; it has no option to do otherwise, for the miserly sky to grant it the blessing of life-giving rain.  Stubborn plants, from weeds to great trees, plot their strategies for survival here; a quick flowering and release of seeds for one and deep and wide roots for another, in order to make the most of what the sky will give them.

With the coming of the waters the land is quick to send its thanks to the relenting sky.  The air is redolent of the smells of tree, shrub and weed as each one provides its own fragrance.  The land itself; the dirt and rocks, adds its aromatic notes to this olfactory orchestra, providing rich notes of earth and fertility to those of the plants in this symphony of smells.

Soon, too soon for many in this parched land, the clouds will blow away.  The earth will dry.  Dust will blow and rocks will rest where they lie, waiting for the next torrent to inch them farther down the hillside.  Plants will either wither after producing seeds, their work finished, or slow down their rhythm, relying on water stored in root, stem and leaf, or deep in the earth itself, waiting for the next gift of water from the stingy sky.

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