Waves lap upon the shore. The desert stands strong, the sandy beach its ramparts. Broad and flat like a graveled road, an arroyo drew us inland, towards the heart of Isla Tiburon. There were signs that water could pour from the heights when rain would finally come. Torrents had carved the cliffs and trenched the floor beneath our feet but not a trickle had arrived in quite some time. The plants looked brown and parched, their tones matching that of the subtle rose and beige of ancient, eroded volcanic rock. The appearance of green there seemed out of place. But it was there and not just in cacti form. We sprinkled water on the deep olive green leaves of creosote bush and they in turn released their volatile oils, the odor of the desert in times of rain.
Tender springtime lime green mounds hid tiny dagger-like thorns and purple flowers of Fagonia. White peeling bark on tall slender Acacia trees lead to yellow mimosoidal flowers and leaves that looked more like stalks of delicate grass than the usual feather like forms found in the family of peas and beans. Densely packed leaves clustered on stems hiding massive trunks. Acorn-like fruits and tiny coral colored flowers hid within their armament. Jacquinia pungens took the prize for persistent life in the midst of dormancy. Leathery and spine-tipped, its leaves were well designed to protect from herbivores attracted to what at first glance looked to be food amidst the paucity of gourmet delights all around. As we reached up, intent on a closer look, we pierced our fingers and rapidly withdrew. A lesson rapidly learned, it was hard to believe that children long ago in this land, decorated their hands with these linear rays, threading the dagger-like tips beneath the skin.
