When, after a long dry spell,
a cloudburst breaks over the Mojave,
for days afterward
the sand is dotted with color,
tingles with tiny exquisite blossoms,
and desert insects move busily among them.
Two weeks hence,
the memory of that precious downpour
stirs in the dreams of seeds
resting beneath the shifting grains
as they parch,
awaiting another distant, drenching dew
and barren to a casual eye.
