Made our way to Picacho Peak yesterday (something I’ve been meaning to do for years), following an interstate lined with golden poppies and purple lupines and orange mallows, to do some light hiking in a state park filled with more poppies and lupines, along with mallows of many colors (I’m especially fond of the delicate pale purples), pink-bloomed hedgehog cacti, and countless other yellow and white blooms.
It’s easy to miss the desert spring, or at least it’s blooming, which lasts only a few weeks, especially if you tend to be somewhat prone to tunnel vision when working on a project. But this spring is a particularly good one, and I actually have had something of a chance to catch my breath after turning in a novel and a short story, and I’ve been making an effort not to miss it.
Not that I could miss it completely if I tried: our front yard is alive with yellow desert marigolds and magenta penstemon and a few shy purple desert bluebells and a single bright gold poppy that found us from parts unknown but is quite welcome here–and just last night an orange mallow put in an appearance, too.
Our backyard is bright with white irises, neatly planted by this house’s former owner and allowed to grow wild by us, more each year, this year especially vivid and scented.
Soon we’ll give way to bright cactus blooms, and then to the dragon’s breath of summer. But right now it’s very much wildflower season, and thanks to our winter rains, the desert has on a particularly bright cloak of colors this year.