Wasi'chu, wasi'chu

I reach a point during every year when It becomes time for the "dry" post. I am not sure we are quite there yet, there is still some transition going on, but...

"...After two days in the desert sun

My skin began to turn red

After three days in the desert fun

I was looking at a river bed

And the story it told of a river that flowed

Made me sad to think it was dead..."

(Bunnell)

A turkey vulture flew by low, its red blazoned, sunburnt head and neck turned my direction, attempting to determine how much time the foolish cyclist, out at this time of day, had left. I watched him watching me, equally suspicious. I wondered where he came from, that turkey vulture - there are always plenty of crows around, quail, and mourning doves in their matched pairs. Occasionally there is some unseen bird calling out wasi'chu, wasi'chu in a high-pitched warning as I approach. But rarely do I see any turkey vulture whirling against the blue or gliding effortlessly above the sage and scrub. Maybe it is the dry that has brought this one out, down from the sky, down to this wash. Down to see what may be dead, or dying, in the dry.

laurel sumac - the clusters of very small flowers have everywhere transitioned to clusters of very small fruit

there's dry, and then there's desiccated - two seasons of yucca

dry...

and desiccated 

while some of the Buckwheat is freshly snowflake white...

others have started their turn to rust

dry and hollow

this purple stuff used to cover that strip in the middle of the road,

now there is just little bits here and there