Nothing is Forever

April in the Sonoran desert is like spring anywhere. Amazing what a little rain can do for a dry landscape. Everything blooms, in sequence. First the creosote produces a tight little curl of orange-yellow blossom. The mesquite leafs out and quickly produces pale yellow-green catkins. The spiny hedgehog, pincushion and brittlebush, the fairy duster and mallow, every small plant that until this instant appeared as if it were about to expire of thirst pushes out a showy flower of some sort. Next the blue palo verde trees burst with heavy yellow-blue flowers, then the foothills palo verde and finally we see the pale pink blossoms of the ironwood tree. The prickly pear pads give us fat luscious yellow or pink "tuna" fruits (which the javelina promptly eat) and then come the green buds of the stately saguaro. These open into white flowers which then transform into juicy red-petaled fruits peppered with tiny black seeds. Birds (and ants) will be feasting on these succulent fruits by the end of June.

But you have to stay watchful because all of this comes and goes very quickly. Just to confuse things, Spring unfolds a little differently each year depending on the timing and quantity of rains that fell the prior Fall. Unless of course you are cheating by using precious ground water to nurture your plants, then anything is possible. On my property, only the very young plants receive a helping hand; the rest survive because they are tenacious and hardy.

This is a telephoto view of my neighbor's house across Grapevine Wash. I am actually shooting the mountain and the house keeps getting in the way. It wasn't there until last year, so I am still getting used to it. But I am no stranger to change. Everything changes. And nothing lasts forever.