It’s hard not to stop and look when it rains in the desert.

The dog and I stand in the doorway, watching. Listening.

Horses under shelter, huddled together.

Flowers reach upward to collect every last drop and a distant thunder reminds us of our place in this world.

The desert knows where we came from. Not our families, or their families before,

but the dust of this earth and the light of the sky.

And this is worth sharing.