I’ve never thought of myself as being much of a desert girl. I’m not fond of excessive heat. I don’t care for scrubby vegetation. And I burn easily. To be perfectly honest, most of my desert exposure has been to less-than-attractive locales. This is merely my opinion, mind you, but I’m the one typing so there.
Time with friends in Scottsdale, Arizona is now challenging my thoughts on the desert. It’s gorgeous there. Even the wildest acreage appears to be part of some perfect Hollywood set. And while it can get hotter than Satan’s butt-hole, there is plenty of conditioned air. Each time I’m there (as I was over the weekend), I find myself drawn to it. Maybe it’s the tonal quality and the lines and angles. I’m not sure. It doesn’t hurt that Mister and I are always in the company of dear friends when we’re in Scottsdale. I’m fairly certain that plays a part in my positive view of the desert. How could it not? All I know is at the end of each trip, as we cross the state line into the California desert, I snap back into my disdain for the terrain and count the hours until Los Angeles is on the horizon.
Maybe I’ll never be a desert girl. That’s okay. Maybe someday I’ll be a Scottsdale Desert girl. Probably not, but you never know. For now – I’ll take glimpses and visits. It’s enough, and it’s good.