We, in this Southwest high desert town, occupy two planets, one bright with weather, the other dully venal. I drive home through delicate rain, past what was once the Flamingo motel and is now a muddy lot. Construction has begun on the Barnes and Noble store. They must know how many of us feel, how we do not want them here, how we are prepared to resist. Thunder and lightning crack over my head.
Monsoons are generous in that way.
They give the possibility of annihilation, and they give beauty. Their light is mineral. The Hopi tribe dance for this necessary beauty. And when their prayers are from the heart, the sky opens and we, human, pine, juniper and bright corn, receive. I have stood, a grateful guest, at the edge of their plaza and as the dancers moved away, to the edge of the mesa, down a trail we cannot see, felt the first fat drops of rain splashing my face, knowing it has been this way for centuries.