Desert Reign; TMGI Day 18

It’s called creosote.
You know that, right?  The creosote bush releases an oil that has the most distinct, pleasing scent I’ve ever smelled.  It’s what most of us call the smell of “rain” in the desert.  For those of you reading this IN the desert, you absolutely know what I’m writing about, and you likely know that it’s called the creosote.
To those of you reading this who DON’T live in the desert, well, I don’t know what to say.  I mean, you might live on the beach…that’d be pretty great.  White sands right outside your door, views of the ocean, the sound of crashing waves putting you to sleep every night.  That’s not bad.  And the scent at the beach?  Well, that’s gotta be a close second to the creosote…but there are always those days that smell like dead fish, too, and that’s why the second place ranking.  I suppose you could live in the mountains.  I looove the mountains.  Pine trees?  Amazing.  Majestic views, clean air – just clear up that ever-present threat of forest fires, lyme disease, and mudslides, and we’ll be all set.  But to make sure you know to what I’m referring in the beginning of the article, there is something miraculous that happens just before or just after a rainstorm in the desert.  It changes its scent.  It changes its feel.  The air is ionized and the creosote bushes all over the place release an oil that smells something like a cross between a mild eucalyptus and fresh angel laundry.  It’s miraculous.
The desert’s mystical qualities begin with the shapes and types of plant life: scraggly mesquite trees along side spiny succulents, rustic joshua trees sprout up amongst the orange, pink, white, and purple wild flowers; ancient saguaro cacti reach their arms toward heaven while prickly pear cacti spread their spiny paddles low across the ground.  Giant volcanic rock formations and rocky hills jut out of the ground, breaking up the infinite sight lines.  Owls and snakes and hawks and rodents and scorpions and coyotes and lizards all engage in a perpetual death match, all the while having to be on the look out for torrential storms and flash flooding when the monsoon storms blow through….
Which, incidentally, is when the creosote does its magic.
While some see rain as depressing or experience storms as something ranging between inconvenient to terror-inducing, I have the exact opposite reactions.  Desert storms relax me.  They clear my head and give me a sense of calm.  A howling storm can be cleansing, and a deep wet soaking rejuvinates and reenergizes the desert floor.  Claps of thunder echo for miles and announce their immensity and power to every living thing.  Even the most ferocious and feared creatures take shelter out of reverence for the fierce force desert rains yield.
There is an elemental connection I feel to the desert, which very quietly, but very palpably inspires me.  That inspiration borders on the spiritual, however, when the desert whispers its lessons through the white-noise of the falling rain, exclaims its power in flashes and bolts of lightning sizzling through the air, and grabs a hold of us and shakes us out of whatever stupor, stagnation, or stalemate in which we may find ourselves with its booming voice of thunder.  I am simultaneously inspired by the awe and beauty of the rain, and powerless to resist its influence:  when the desert rains, the desert reigns.

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