Gerry Peirce wrote of the Sonoran Desert: "There is probably no place in the world as tranquil as the desert in late afternoon. Although it may be more pleasant in the fall, winter and spring than in mid-summer, the desert always has its own inimitable mystery and charm. Clouds drift gently across the sky, whispering misleading promises of rain. Mist rises from the slopes of the serene mountains, and dust devils lazily swirl in the dry washes. The distant trees merge into the hills and a fleck of sun brightens an open sandy area. Nearby are the bushes and plants that have learned to live in this land of little rain - the creosote, prickly pear, yucca and saguaro. There are the tawny grasses, the franseria and the burro weed. Quail call back and forth and doves speak in pearl-like tones. The jack rabbits are moving, for the heat of the day is over. Soon the night hawks will harpoon the sky. The desert is a solitary place, still, serene, endless." (Peirce 1961:28-29).
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