A wet winter in the desert portends immense beauty come springtime, and our Arizona roadsides, hills, and mountains are awash in a rainbow bursting with color. Wildflowers abound. Southeast of Phoenix, we turned East on the Florence-Kelvin highway. The pavement ends, but the dirt road keeps going. From the car, one might think they are seeing what there is to see, but we were proven wrong. Step away from the road, walk thirty feet or so through the cactus away from the car to surround yourself in the greenery of this rare occurrence of a lush green desert and you’ll never see that old brown desert the same way again.

And we thought the flowers were great along the main road! Out in the middle of nowhere and between a bunch of rocks, carpets of wildflowers begin to stretch up hillsides. We pay no mind to the washboard road as we inch along, whiplashing our necks, craning first one way, then the next. Red dirt is kicked up by the occasional SUV driver speeding somewhere in a hurry, leaving us to choke on their dust. It never fails to amaze us how many people will not slow down and smell the flowers on their trek to reach a destination while skipping all the fun of the journey.

Orange gives way to purple, and yellow punctuates it all as the backdrop of green and blue rides atop the weathered and cragged brown and gray mountains rising out of the sandy earth below. Saguaros are fat with moisture, their ribs bulging compared to dry years when the outside skin of the cactus draws tight on the inner skeleton of these giant sentries. Miles can pass where few flowers are seen; then around a corner, it is as though the elements have aligned and the sun is favoring this particular spot where up pop a thousand lupines, the fragrance of Cleveland Sage intoxicates the nose, and the coercion that forces you from the car has been executed perfectly – it is time to explore the desert.

Even where man has tried to move and strip the earth with his mining, the flowering fleeting intruder is determined to take back the view damaged by us. It tries to convince passersby that the world is indeed a more beautiful place that deserves to be viewed in awe for its potential to alter our perceptions. The sun begins to bear down, showing the teeth that will, in a month, clamp down on our comfort. This star of ours will fade these hues into various shades of tan and brown that will blend back into the sand and rocks, leaving a few fond memories in the mind’s eye of those who took time this spring to witness the desert’s rare display.

Hunger and thirst beckoned; the impromptu turn on the dirt road earlier in the day saw us leave civilization ill-prepared, with no water and no food – big no-no’s when entering the backcountry. Now it’s time to rejoin the masses and the race to who knows where. For another twenty minutes, we’ll find ourselves still on the edge of suburbia, wishing for this spectacle of wildflowers to linger another month or so, but this is the desert, and this kind of show is nothing if not elusive and temporary.

And just as we think we are leaving the zone of tranquility, one last round alights our senses with colors hitherto unseen this day. We are lashed with a fury of pink. The Parry Penstemon is blooming. Also known as the Beardtongue, these pink bells are the grand finale to a spectacular day of witnessing a sight few people of the southwest will take the time to see for themselves. But we did, and if you were so inclined, this would be a good time for you to treat your senses, too.