There's a particular slant of light just before a storm hits the mountains. It used to fill me with dread; now I see the beauty in it, the holding of breath. I used to brace for the fall. Now, I notice the individual leaves turning, each one a small, bright surrender. The inevitability doesn't change, but the fear does. The desert blooms most intensely right before the rains come, a desperate, vibrant show. I used to see it as a taunt. Now, I understand it's just life, squeezing every last drop of beauty from the moment before the flood.