The Santa Cruz River runs on the west side of Tucson, parallel to interstate 5. It is a typical dry desert wash: wide, with swaths of tangled vegetation, more foot prints to be found in the sand than watermarks. I love it for its emptiness, and biking fast alongside it under bleached summer skies.
Is there water beneath the hot sand? Why does it rise and pool in slow moving spirals beneath the Tamarisk and Cottonwood trees on its north end?
Last week, the last gasp of the summer monsoon season paraded on Tucson’s south side. With it, came the flood of the Santa Cruz River.
Cars were stopped, pedestrians leaned over the railing, soaking in the burning brown water with their eyes.
Feeling the wind blow off of the rushing water was just the cure for dusty summer blues.
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