the emerald desert

She's usually scrubby when you visit her. A strawberry blonde in khakis like Laura Dern on a dinosaur dusting. But every once in a while, if you time it right, she glows green, smells sweet and fresh and lively, all showered in rain and fast and flashy snow melt.

Every once in a while she's a picture of spring. A bedazzling of emeralds across her skinny orange bones.

An oasis in the blink of an eye.

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