When one pauses to notice the Mockingbird spinning cartwheels above his throne atop the palo verde; hears the deep-throated gurgle of a Cactus Wren, the high-pitched call of the Gila Woodpecker, the mournful song of a lonely Roadrunner, or the rapturous serenade of a Curve-billed Thrasher, the desert rejoices.
The moment one sniffs the honey-like fragrance of the Brownspot; spots the tangerine color of the rare Desert Mariposa, the golden sunlight of a Desert Marigold, the fire-orange tips of the Ocotillo, or the wispy pink petals of a Fairy Duster, the desert races to shower the prickly thorns of winter with its boldest splashes of spring.
And when mother and daughter don walking shoes, rimmed hats, sunglasses, and hiking sticks to wander paved paths or sandy trails arm-in-arm, never have the birds chattered with such enthusiasm, the bees hummed with more vigor, or the flowers beamed with such exuberance as on that day.
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