In a quiet corner of the Sonoran Desert, a blue flag flies high over the Palo Verde and the Ocotillo. It announces water for those in need, for this stretch of desert has claimed the lives of thousands of border-crossers. Costa’s Hummingbird males scream by on display flights, outdoing the maneuvers of the airforce overhead; their females hover at the scarlet ocotillo flowers that tremble in the breeze. Somebody left a tin of sardines on the tank, scrawled “Tu estes amor” in the adjacent sand. It’s an oasis from the many harshnesses of the Sonoran Desert.
Tu estes amor. I don’t know if it’s the phase of the moon or the sensuality of desert spring but I’m thirsty, and I’m also in love with this place.