Today is summer solstice at 9:24 PM (MST); summer’s official start. Temperatures in Phoenix are forecast to reach near 120°, making it the hottest day of the year (so far). The Queen and I are celebrating the end of spring like a couple of mushrooms hiding in the dark while hoping the air conditioner doesn’t fail.
To cope with the increased temperature, we’ve changed our daily routines. We go on our morning walk at 6:30 to take advantage of the cooler morning temperature; although this morning’s low was still 83°. With 20% humidity, eighty degrees should be comfortable and it is in the shade, but this being desert, there’s little shade. There’s something about an oppressive high barometric pressure that intensifies the Sun’s radiant heat, so along our route, we divert to every patch of shade we find like lizards darting between rocks.
I limit my time out in the shop now. Instead of waiting most of the morning for the garage to warm up, I only work the hour before breakfast and I break my chores into chunks to fit the time. At least with that schedule, I get more computer work done in the afternoons.
There are other clues that our exceptional spring is being pushed aside. The roadside flowers I featured in earlier posts, have withered into dried grasses. The stately saguaro, one gluttonously plump with winter rain are undergoing transition to their impression of The Thin Man with their accordion folds compressing together. I wonder if the birds living in the giant cactus’ apartments notice their shrinking floor space.
Even the creosote is changing. A month ago they were full of yellow buds and the open spaces between washes were fields of light green resembling dense crops. Their flowers have turned into tiny gray fuzz-balls and the bush begins shedding leaves. They’re conserving water so they can survive out in the summer sun.
I see out of my window that clouds are gathering above the Weaver Mountain Range. There will be no welcome rain from them today. There isn’t enough moisture in the air for them to swell into magnificent thunderheads. That will come in a couple of weeks when the winds change and bring humid air from the south, and that will be the real monsoon season start. Today’s clouds are just a promise of things to come.
Till then . . . jw
Moving to Congress effectively put the kabosh on your West Side project, which is a shame, because I really liked what you were doing with it.
On the other hand, it has also made it much easier for you to photograph the desert landscape under a wider range of conditions, which is great, because it means we get to see more photos like the two you posted above.
I guess it’s true that you win some and lose some, eh?
Thanks for the comment, and as you say moving here did make it more difficult to run back into town to shoot more West Side shots. However, I had already taken most of the low hanging fruit and to add to the project, I was going to wander further or add another chapter/period to the collection.
I’ve taken what I learned from that project and have adapted it to the new work that I’m doing now. I haven’t quite crystallized a full project yet, but that will happen soon.
So, you’re right, you lose and you gain, but all you can do is to keep on trying.
jw