The southeastern corner of Arizona received an unusually large amount of precipitation for July. I'm waiting for an official confirmation that a new record was set. Still, a dry week has passed, which causes me take a moment to gaze up towards the sky for any indication of rain action throughout the day. Storm watching is a favorite past-time in the desert. Join me over the orange cloud for more snapshots capturing my more recent observations.
The Daily Bucket is a regular feature of the Backyard Science group. It is a place to note of any observations you have made of the world around you. Insects, weather, meteorites, climate, birds and/or flowers. All are worthy additions to the bucket. Please let us know what is going on around you in a comment. Include, as close as is comfortable for you, where you are located. Each note is a record that we can refer to in the future as we try to understand the patterns that are quietly unwinding around us.
The desert monsoon season often seems to me to be fickle and contrary. The clouds can puff up offering some hope only to slowly dissipate. The most promising clouds frequently sweep by and side-step my patch of earth altogether. Sometimes a storm can sneak up on me while I'm not paying attention and with a bang empty buckets of rain.
Cumulus with crepuscular rays.
These clouds remind me of a Kandinsky painting.
I chuckle over the fact that I can feel some of the desperation depicted in the movies. I imagine the lead character giving the landscape a desperate stare. The classics The Rainmaker and Jean de Florette come immediately to mind.
Here is a shot taken near the Mexican border facing north towards my home.
The view from High Rd. in Old Bisbee looking to the south.
Cumulonimbus, captured back in June, officially started the monsoon season.
Observing the clouds stretch and expand is often meditative.
Cumulus fractus clouds.
Observing the weather exercises all of my senses. I can feel the the pressure build in my head. The scent of damp earth and creosote often drift ahead of the storm. A breeze will sweep back my hair, the tightness of my skin will begin to relax and a distant rumbling will echo in my ears. At the corner of my eye the flicker of light draws my attention to check the yard for errant tools, the car for an open window and to herd my two cats inside.
The climax is usually short and sweet. The earth heaves a sigh and the setting sun will splash vibrant colors against the sky.
I invite you to share any of your observations about what is occurring in your corner of the world in the comments.
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