Monsoons as Metaphor

I moved here from Pennsylvania in 1975 at age 19. After growing up with big leafy trees, such as oaks and maples, and rich black earth for farming, I couldn’t believe that anything actually grew out of the hard, parched earth here. I landed in August of 1975, and as nature would have it, there was a robust monsoon season going on. I said to my uncle, who was the person that convinced me to try Tucson, “I thought this was supposed to be a desert, and yet it pours down rain every day at about 4pm.” His answer was “just wait and see.” Now after living here for almost 47 years, I see there is much to be appreciated in the monsoons and what they mean to the desert, and life.

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