A morning glory wraps itself around a cholla cactus along Babad Do'ag Trail in the Catalina Mountains off the Catalina Highway. Abundant summer rains have allowed desert and mountain areas to flourish with an abundance of plant and animal life.

A.E. Araiza / Arizona Daily Star

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A ray of sunlight escapes the clouds to highlight a spot of green on the hills. Purple, orange and white flowers sprinkle the landscape with color.

The river flows gently by grassy banks. A meadow is bursting with grass, weeds and bushes. The air is moist with the promise of more rain. Insects hum; toads and birds sing.

Add water to a brown, dusty patch of desert and it's magically transformed into something less harsh, something more familiar to those used to the green of wetter places. Dormant desert dwellers come to life, and flowers get a second chance to bloom.

The desert changes with the seasons, but we miss the subtleties. They are quiet and discreet: like the softening of the sunlight and the changing of the ocotillo leaves when the days turn cool, the small display of wildflowers and cactus blooms when the days begin to warm.

When the summer rains come, swift and violent, the desert responds in kind. Flora and fauna hurry to bloom, mate and grow before the season is gone.

This year's monsoon has been powerful and productive. If you live in a rural area, you noticed the changes early on.

I drive through Saguaro National Park West twice a day. It's a different desert, and it changes almost every day. It takes a sustained, constant supply of rainwater to keep hills green, flowers blooming, grass growing and water in the river.

Growing up in town, I never appreciated all the changes happening out there in the desert during the monsoon.

The afternoon rain meant a fun diversion on a hot summer day. We ran into the flooded street, splashed in the water and got soaking wet. We made mud pies and, yes, we ate them. I don't advocate eating dirt, but as a child I considered those pies a rare treat.

When my children were growing up, we'd go outside and watch the storms roll in. Sometimes we stood outside and played in the rain. Other times, the lightning would drive us inside.

Where we live now, if it rains long and hard, we can't get into town because there are too many wash crossings. After the rain, dirt roads wash out, and the paved roads fill with sand and debris.

For most urban dwellers, the monsoon means yard work. Tame, slow-growing plants have suddenly taken over the yard. Grass grows where no one knew it could. The streets get flooded, and it's a challenge to make it home.

The season is on its way out. Too soon, the landscape will be back to shades of brown. The washes and rivers will dry up. The grass will wither, and the flowers will fade. The toads will disappear, and the meadow will turn back into just another vacant, dusty lot.

The desert retreats from exuberance into a slower rhythm until the next rain falls.