The sun was beating down with scorching heat.
The land where it never rained,
The Mojave Desert.
Always hot and dry.
A blank and empty canvas of sandy rock and rusting gold.
A lucky drop of soft blue rain.
The rain would change the desert’s history forever.
Deep in the desert where the dead tumbleweeds grew
It was a wasteland of dead flowers.
Because of that little bit of rain the flowers bloomed
In an explosion of colors.
Electric purple hedgehog flowers
With golden yellow primrose.
The flowers were the light in the dark.
Truly, natural, beautiful.
Because of the newly grown colors
Blood red and steaming orange.
People would go miles
To see the majestic flowers.
Running, hiking, biking, and horseback riding
Through the once dead land.
The miracle didn't last.
The flowers shriveled,
Once again gone,
Pale lifeless petals were left.
Yet everyone knew that at some point
It would happen again;
The flowers would come back
To bring color to the desert.
To wait ten years or a hundred,
Everyone was depending on their hope
For that little bit of rain to fall again.
we run from the water, shivering in the breeze
then jump on the trampoline
white flowers fly everywhere
scattered across the tree above
climb up the vibrant pink slide and over the side
right under the delicate, bell-like flowers
we smell them––fresh as grass after rain
we are towering but we can finally reach them
so we reach up and pick a few
I glance at my friends and we pull the ends off at the same time
it’s sweet, like a childhood memory