Living Desert, The (1953)

[bunniefuu]

Across the face
of our globe,

prevailing winds
blow almost constantly.

These are the trade winds,

and in the age
of sailing ships,

they pushed many a precious
cargo over the seas.

And yet no treasure ship could
hold the priceless cargo

the winds themselves carry.

For these air currents bring
clouds to the land areas

and life-giving rainfall.

Sometimes, however, the winds
meet with a natural barrier.

Along the western edge
of North America,

the Sierra Nevada
and cascade mountains

rise like
an enormous granite wall

and keep
the rain-bearing clouds

from reaching a large portion
of the continent.

The highest point
in the United States

is found in this range --
mount Whitney,

towering nearly 15,000 feet
above sea level.

Here in the shadow
of this majestic peak,

the wasteland begins.

This is death valley,
bitterest of all deserts

and the lowest point
on the American continent.

Once this valley
lay beneath the sea.

And as the ancient waves
receded,

they left an ocean's skeleton,

deposits of salt
that still stretch for miles.

But this desolate basin

is only the beginning
of the great American desert.

From the vicinity
of death valley,

it reaches
to the plains of Texas,

and from a corner of Oregon,
deep into old Mexico.

For the granite blockade
of the sierras

has created one of largest
deserts in the world.

The eternal desert --

incredibly ugly yet
fantastically beautiful,

seemingly without purpose,
without meaning,

without life.

In part,
it's a place of silence --

monument valley.

In part,
it's the painted desert,

where petrified trees become
their own tombstones.

In part, this
is a region of naked hills,

a sea of burning sand.

It's a country where rivers

give up their hopeless struggle
and sink into the earth.

This is the land of the mirage,

where seeing isn't believing.

Those mountains
are real enough,

but the water
that reflects them

is only an optical illusion.

And here's
another phantom lake.

Now you see it...

Now you don't.

The desert holds
many mysteries,

but none more puzzling than the
riddle of the rocks that move.

These strange trails, gouged
in the floor of a dry lake,

are made by boulders
weighing nearly a ton.

But whether the rocks
are pushed by the wind,

carried by floodwaters,

or impelled
by some unknown force,

nobody knows,

for no one has ever seen
the rocks in motion,

only the marks
of their passing.

Part of the desert's
endless panorama

is the salton sea,

itself the remainder
of an ancient ocean.

And here are scenes that come
from the time of creation.

Along these shores,
pent-up gases bubble and boil

like seething cauldrons.

Nature's symphony
of the mud pots.

This, then, is
the great American desert,

a land of heat and sun,

of sand and soundless space,

the ominous silence broken only

by the howling
of the sandstorm.

How anything can live
in this harsh region

remains a mystery
to most of US.

And yet where we find only
a dead and desolate wasteland,

nature finds life.

And this "true-life adventure"

is the story
of nature's living desert.

It's the ancient drama
of the struggle for existence.

And for the most part,

life here is a bit
on the grim side.

But of course there's
always comedy relief.

This character, for instance,
is an odd bird for sure.

He's the roadrunner,

so-called because
he'd rather walk than fly.

A nosy fellow completely
lacking in manners,

he has a habit of pecking at
anything lying around loose,

such as the tail
of a garter snake.

A confirmed practical joker,
he finds this great sport,

making little snakes
out of big ones.

At the residence
of Mrs. Tarantula,

it's always open house.

She's forever
cleaning her parlor

for guests that might
drop by for dinner.

Uh, her dinner, of course.

And here comes a caller now.

This lethal lady is one of the
leading actors in our drama.

She'll be receiving more
visitors from time to time.

A gourmet who prefers
a different diet

is the chuckawalla.

These little fellows
are strict vegetarians,

diminutive dinosaurs
who dine on daisies.

To meet the harsh challenge
of the desert,

nature must fashion
odd patterns of life.

And with the spiny cacti,

her creations approach
the realm of fantasy.

Trees being scarce,

the desert birds
must build their nests

in the most unlikely places.

Still they manage to turn
the drawback to an advantage.

Home, sweet home here
is a bristling fortress,

guarded by 1,000 bayonets.

To each bird,
its own brand of cactus.

For these young thrashers,

the cholla provides a nursery
as neat as a pin cushion.

The prickly pear becomes
sanctuary for the dove,

while the desert skyscraper,
the giant saguaro,

is a haven for the woodpeckers.

Here too the red-tailed hawk
chooses her nesting place.

On the living desert, nature
delights in the unexpected.

Sometimes in the very heart
of the wasteland,

an underground stream
will reappear.

But these watering places
are rare, indeed.

Most of the desert creatures

must learn to do without water
over long periods.

The tortoise is lucky.

He manufactures his own,

using the special equipment
nature has given him.

He gathers his raw material
early in the season

when there's still
green foliage available.

By internal chemistry,

he converts the leaves
into clear liquid,

which he stores
beneath his shell.

He's a traveling canteen,

able to tide himself
over long periods of drought.

Another piece
of special equipment

that makes life a little easier

is the skid
under the tortoise's chin.

It helps him
over the rough places.

A tortoise must gather his
Greens while they're available.

Yet this poses a problem.

For now
it's courting season, too.

A nice dilemma --

stay a bachelor
at the waterworks,

or chase after the women
and maybe die of thirst.

A coy glance from the sideline
soon settles that question.

The bashful male
begins his courtship

as a nodding acquaintance.

Then when he gets a bit bolder,

the lady as usual
gives him the runaround.

After all, every female
wants a choice in the matter.

At the proper moment,

in the proper tradition,
the rival enters.

With a sort
of ponderous chivalry,

the two males square off.

Two knights in armor ready
to battle for the lady fair.

Uh, but first they agree
on the tournament rules.

The handy skid now
becomes the jouster's Lance

with which he tries
to upend his rival.

In fact, this
is the object of the bout

since a tortoise
turned upside-down

is completely helpless.

Finally, it's tortoise
turned turtle.

Eight, nine, ten, you're out.
He's not only lost his dignity,
he may lose his life.

Vulnerable to heat prostration,

he must right
himself immediately

or die of sunstroke.

The winner meanwhile
claims the lady fair,

totally unconcerned with
the plight of his opponent.

An immigrant
from Central America

is the coatimundi,

a tropical cousin
of the American raccoon.

Thanks to a cast-iron
digestive system,

he's right at home here.

He'll eat anything.

Insects, lizards, fruit, eggs.

You name it,
the coati will eat it.

What's more, nature made him
almost completely immune

to the deadly sting
of the scorpion.

And so he often adds this spicy
tidbit to his daily diet.

For dessert,
what could be nicer

than the fruit
of the prickly

The coatis are by choice
tree-dwellers

and often make their homes
in hollow logs

found along the dry washes.

As soon as mother coati
makes the bed,

the youngsters come along
and muss it up again.

Playful, fun-loving,

these little rascals aren't
as innocent as they look

for coatis are born bandits,

even to the masks
on their faces.

Since egg-stealing
is their favorite pastime,

they're a constant threat
to unguarded nests.

Working like professionals,
the second-story men

make off with the loot.

And Mrs. Vulture arrives
just a little too late

to save her eggs.

About this time, mother
looks in to check the swag

and is quick to cut herself in.

Meanwhile, this junior burglar

finds he forgot to steal
the combination.

And then after the omelet,
a quiet nap.

These wild pigs
are called by several names --

jabalinas, peccaries --

but their real name is trouble,

for they're one
of the most ferocious animals

on the American continent.

They travel in groups,

especially when
accompanied by young.

Unlike their domestic cousins,

peccaries wear
a thick coat of fur.

And when they find
a patch of damp sand,

they welcome
the chance to cool off.

But now another vicious fighter
with an equally bad reputation

comes their way.

It's a good rule
on the desert to keep clear

of a bobcat on the prowl,

but it's an even better rule
never to pick on a peccary.

Like all wild pigs,

they have long tusks
and short tempers.

The cat's instinctive reaction
is to climb a tree,

but no tree.

Well, it's no time
to be choosy.

This is an emergency.

When it comes to a choice

between sharp tusks
and sharp thorns,

the cat prefers the latter.

Not the most comfortable spot
in the world,

but at least he's safe.

And the bobcat finally decides
the desert's no place

for a tenderfoot.

In her desert drama,

nature knows
neither hero nor villain.

She's impartial and plans
for the survival of all.

Thus the rattlesnake is given
a super-sensitive tongue

with which he tracks his prey.

Even the faintest scent
left in the sand

will guide him unerringly
along the trail.

The pocket mouse
has only one defense --
he goes underground,

and it's any hole
in an emergency.

Oop! Any hole but that one.

Hot on the scent,
the rattlesnake
sticks to the trail.

Wherever it leads, he follows.

Uh-oh.

The tarantula
and the rattler --

two of a kind.

The snake isn't
to be bluffed out of a meal.

He's sure the mouse
is in that hole.

The spider is sure he isn't...

While the party in question
would rather dig than debate.

Largest of all spiders

and armed with
her own brand of poison,

the tarantula
stands her ground.

And oddly enough, the
rattlesnake backs down first.

It's a standoff,
and nobody wins...

Nobody, that is, except the
little mouse who wasn't there.

The scent cold,
the trail is lost.

And this time a desert k*ller

has been outwitted
by everybody.

Every afternoon
along about sundown,

the red-tailed hawk flies
to this particular spot

and waits...

For here occurs a phenomenon
that's as regular as clockwork.

Inside this cave, millions
of bats are awakening,

for their day begins
with the twilight.

Bats are
the only flying mammals.

This species lives
exclusively on insects

and so helps nature keep the
pest population under control.

Now as evening approaches,

these night fliers take off
for their hunting grounds.

To navigate in the dark,
bats use a form of radar.

Their high-pitched squeaks
bounce off solid objects

to become the echoes
by which they guide themselves.

Soon the sky is filled
with clouds of bats.

And this is what the hawk
has been waiting for.

She draws a bead
on half a dozen or so,

and down she goes!

A clean miss.

Oh, well, maybe she forgot
to allow for the wind.

This time she checks
elevation, drift, diving angle,

and...

Scored a hit.

But it gets away.

Old butterclaws.

Was ever a bird so frustrated?

This can drive a hawk
to nervous prostration.

She just can't figure it out.

You see, nobody ever told her
about the bats' radar.

Frantic now,
she'll try anything,

even a collision course.

To her surprise, it works.

And a mighty small reward
for such a prodigious effort.

To nature, the loss of one bat,
or even 1,000,

is really no loss at all.

This winged column
streams into the sky

until long after the sun
has gone from the scene.

The nighttime wonders
of nature's living desert

more than match
the wonders of the day.

The desert water hole
in particular

attracts an odd assortment
of night life.

Here the toads
find a hunting ground

especially to their liking.

Here the centipede
puts his best foot forward

and steps out
for an evening stroll.

Suddenly he finds he's wandered
down a dead-end street.

In the realm of fancy footwork,
however,

the millipede is without equal.

Millipede --
literally "1,000 feet,"

give or take a few.

Count 'em.

Uh-oh.

Looks like a bad night
for a pedestrian.

But not this one.

Nature gives the millipede
an unpleasant odor

guaranteed to make him
completely spider-proof.

This pungent defense,
however, has its limitations.

The toad finds it
quite appetizing.

Whenever the moon casts a spell
over the living desert,

the goblins appear.

In this case,
it's an elfin owl.

From her doorway,
she watches a strange ballet

in the moonlight.

Like a creature bewitched,

the burrowing snake
performs his serpentine solo.

The owl is witness
to many unusual scenes,

but one of the strangest

is the courtship
of the tarantulas.

The male comes calling
like any love-sick Romeo

and knocks
on the female's door.

In her own good time,
Juliet appears.

He greets her with open arms --
all eight of them --

and draws her close.

The lady takes her cue
and swoons.

A bit theatrical perhaps,

but it's a technique
that always works,

even with tarantulas.

But the owl
hasn't seen anything yet,

for now begins the courting
dance of the scorpion.

Of course, the first thing
he needs is a partner,

so he digs one up.

Being native westerners,

the scorpions favor the lively
rhythms of the square dance.

All right, everybody!

Choose your partners
for the sting-o-ree.

* lady and gent
to the center of the ring *

* lock those claws,
lift that sting *

* three legs up
and four legs down *

* whirl that scorpion
round and round *

* circle 'round,
and away we go *

* sashay right
with a do-si-do *

* halfway 'round
and backtrack back *

* snap your claws
with a clickety-clack *

* gents to the left,
ladies to the right *

* now, ain't that gal
a pretty sight? *

* swing your partner,
give her a hug *

* get your hooks
on a lady bug *

* stingers up
for the sting-o-ree *

* but watch out, gal,
you don't sting me *

* allemande left
with your insect fair *

* and take your gal
to you-know-where *

The amorous mood of the evening
seems to be catching,

for now the long-horned beetle
in formal attire

decides to drop in
on the lady downstairs.

What a charming smile she has.

And such magnificent mandibles.

He's the forceful type
and walks in unannounced.

But his welcome isn't
quite what he expected.

First thing he knows,
the lady clamps a hammerlock

on one of his feelers.

And then she begins
to gnaw on his leg,

merely her way of hinting that
she's already going steady.

And by the coincidence which
is usual in romantic farces,

here comes the boyfriend now.

A double headlock,
and then a deadlock.

But in the end,
true love triumphs,

and a battered beetle
beats a hasty retreat.

After what he's been through,

this lad's in no mood
for nonsense,

not even from tarantulas.

Nature's on his side this time,

for she's armed him with some
special anti-tarantula weapons.

And when they
finally part company,

the spider's left with
a new respect for beetles.

Just how long can
this charmed existence last?

If at first you don't succeed,
call your big brother.

"Hey, mugsy, take care
of this wise guy, will ya?"

Big toad bites little beetle.

Little beetle bites big toad...

On the tongue.

Ouch!

During these moonlight hours,

most of the nocturnal creatures

spend their time
gathering food.

The kangaroo rats in particular
carry on a busy harvest.

Supplies are stuffed
into their large cheek pouches

for future consumption.

When pouches
are filled to capacity,

some of the gleanings
must be buried.

Finding a likely spot
for a private pantry

requires some scouting around.

In the process, some mighty
odd things turn up...

Such as a belligerent
horned toad.

It never fails.

Whenever you want
a little privacy,

there's always somebody
looking over your shoulder.

The nosy neighbor.

He minds everybody's
business but his own.

The nuisance
is hard to discourage,

but he finally takes the hint.

And once he's out of the way,
the food's put into storage.

These little fellows have
some rather unusual habits.

They practically
never drink water,

but, like the tortoise,
manufacture it

inside their bodies.

And for a bath, what could be
better than good, clean sand?

In this bustling colony,
there's never an idle moment,

and Mrs. Rat's busiest of all,

for mother's work
is never done.

She's nurse,
housekeeper, and provider.

A mother with babies to feed
is constantly on the move.

And she must often travel
considerable distances

to find seeds.

With all her responsibilities,

Mrs. Rat is extremely cautious

and quick to hide
at the slightest sound.

The kingsnake isn't poisonous,

but he does have
an appetite for kangaroo rats.

Mrs. Rat needs
no second warning.

She heads for home
and her children.

Now the snake
picks up her trail.

In this crisis,
mother rat has a plan,

but she must work fast.

For emergencies,
every family of kangaroo rats

prepares an auxiliary burrow.

On her second trip,
she barely manages to
slip in the back door,

as the enemy enters the front.

But the nursery's empty.
Where's the missing baby?

Lost in the maze of tunnels,
trying to find his mother.

Still on the trail, the snake
heads for the second burrow.

And then an innocent bystander
saves the day.

Enter the gekko,
a poor, defenseless lizard.

Well, not quite.

For nature gave him
a detachable tail.

And so nothing's hurt
but his pride.

He'll soon grow another tail
and be as good as new.

This odd pattern in the sand
is made by the sidewinder,

or horned rattlesnake.

There's a reason for this
strange method of travel.

It gives the sidewinder
traction in soft sand

where other snakes won't go.

Thus nature provides him with
hunting grounds all his own.

A formidable hunter,

he leans strongly toward a diet
of lizards and rodents.

Small but extremely poisonous,

he doesn't
usually track his prey,

but waits for it
to come to him.

Yikes!

In the face
of such a potent enemy,

most intended victims
take to the hills.

But not the rat.
He takes the offensive.

And his favorite weapon
is a homemade sandstorm.

Against this stinging barrage,

the rattler has practically
no protection.

His eyes especially
are vulnerable.

They have no lids,

only a delicate covering
over the pupils.

He can't even squint.

The snake's ambush has failed.

Only one thing left --

start sidewinding
for the nearest exit.

Now that the enemy's
in full retreat,

everybody wants to claim
a share in the victory.

Naturally, after such
a tremendous triumph,

a celebration's in order.

Then in typical human fashion,

the affair degenerates
into a brawl.

The commotion
attracts an outsider

who decides to crash the party.

This popeyed prowler
is the ring-tailed cat.

Actually, he's no more cat
than his cousin the raccoon,

but he does have a cat's taste
for kangaroo rats.

And here's another
big appetite on the lookout

for refreshments.

The squabbling rats
are about to learn

one of nature's oldest laws --

a single moment off-guard
can be your last.

It's a lucky rat who gets away
to live perhaps another day.

In nature's design
for the desert,

the pattern changes
with the passing hours.

Each species in turn --

insect and bird,
reptile and mammal --

has its preferred time of day.

Now in the cool of the morning,

the ground squirrels appear.

These are the roundtails

whose favorite breakfast
is the prickly-pear cactus.

Its juicy pulp provides them
with both food and drink.

They're also fond of leaves
and seedpods.

Breakfast often
lasts all morning,

unless there's an interruption.

It's old nosy Parker,

the roadrunner.

Incidentally, he's a member
of the cuckoo family,

a charter member as far
as the squirrels are concerned.

Still they know
how to handle this clown.

Just give him a taste
of his own medicine.

But no sooner are they rid
of one nuisance,

then another appears.

This time it's sweet William,
the spotted skunk.

He's a night prowler
and, like all skunks,

carries a grudge
against everybody,

especially when he's
on his way home to bed.

And whenever he's around,
somebody smells trouble.

When Willy gets his back up,
it means, "stand aside, buster,

or I'll let you have it."

There's not much a squirrel
can do about this.

Wow!

When he's had it, he's had it.

What's this?
Another intruder?

Ah, it's only skinny,
the kid from across the way,

always trying to horn in.

"Hey, how's chances
for joining the g*ng?"

But the g*ng, it seems,
wants no part of skinny.

Still, skinny's
not easily squelched.

"Games"

This guy's getting
a little tiresome.

Besides, he's interfering
with breakfast.

They decide to put him
in his place.

But skinny doesn't mind.

At least he's
the center of attention.

And who knows?
Maybe this is the initiation.

Well, if that
was the initiation,

somebody forgot to give him
the password.

Suddenly, skinny and
his problems are forgotten,

for now a visitor approaches
who can't be ignored.

The gila monster --

a strange combination
of ugliness and beauty.

He looks like a beaded bag,
but this is pure deception,

for nature,
in a moment of grim humor,

filled the bag with poison.

In their panic, some
literally grasp at straws.

Something must be done
about this ugly customer,

but who's to do it?

The only to take action
is skinny.

Well, he wanted to play tag,

except this time, it's apt
to be tag for keeps.

Still, skinny has
two things in his favor --

he's fast on his feet,
and he has a fighting heart.

His method of dealing
with gila monsters

is to insult them.

As he warms to his work,
he even gets a little c*ck.

"Hey, skinny,
get out of there."

Once he starts something,
though, skinny sticks to it

until even the gila monster
can't take any more.

And who's the hero of the hour?

Why, skinny, of course.

Let's give the little fellow
a big hand.

It's been a busy morning
for the squirrels,

but whenever things
calm down a bit,

it's back to breakfast.

"Hey, who's rocking the rock?"

Well, it's the tortoise.

"Morning, brother tortoise.

You leaving?"

"Okay, everybody,
free ride's over."

And so the g*ng gets off,
all except skinny.

He's one of those characters

who just has to ride
to the end of the line.

On the living desert,

nature's theme is always the
preservation of the species.

And she uses many methods
to accomplish her purpose.

This is the pepsis wasp,
or tarantula hawk.

In order that her kind
may survive,

she must stalk
the deadly tarantula

and engage it in mortal combat.

It's her perilous mission
to sting the giant spider,

paralyze it, and thus preserve
it as food for her young.

She hurries from one likely
looking hole to another,

literally asking for trouble.

And she finds it,

but not the kind she expected.

The ant army swarms
to the attack.

Their one purpose
is to weigh her down,

keep her earthbound.

Against
this organized onslaught,

the wasp has no defense.

She can only hope
to shake them off.

She wins her freedom,

but only to resume
her search for spiders.

Driven by the compelling urge
to reproduce her species,

she'll let nothing stop her.

A tarantula it must be,

and a tarantula it is.

Now they are met, face-to-face.

And this is a sight
few have ever witnessed.

In this strange encounter, the
spider battles for its life,

the wasp, for generations
yet to come,

for only through the tarantula

can she ensure
the propagation of her line.

In this raw
and elemental struggle,

these are the weapons --

the paralyzing sting
of the wasp

and the lethal bite
of the spider,

the rapier and the broadsword.

In size and brute strength,
the odds favor the giant,

but these are more than matched

by the frenzied skill
of its tiny adversary.

The stricken wasp
grovels in the sand,

but the spider
fails to follow up.

It's a missed opportunity
and a fatal mistake.

In this brief respite,
the wasp recovers.

And now she drives
for the one vulnerable spot,

the abdomen.

Then the turning point

as the wasp suddenly
reverses her tactics

and, flat on her back,
thrusts home.

She scores again and again,

and her poison
begins to take its toll.

The groggy giant
is almost defenseless now,

but the wasp
is a creature obsessed.

Finally,
one last paralyzing thrust,

and the battle is over.

But now, in victory, the wasp
faces an even bigger task.

She must drag the spider,
many times her size,

to a secret hiding place.

But into her fragile body,

nature has packed a strength
prodigious beyond belief.

With fanatical energy,
she digs a hole,

for it's part of her ritual
to Bury her victim.

Now and then, she pauses
to check for measurements...

Then returns to her task.

A tremendous Boulder
presents an obstacle,

but only temporarily.

To a human, this would be
like towing a 10-ton truck

with your teeth.

Now on the tarantula's body,
she will lay a single egg.

Soon a new wasp will emerge,
feed on the paralyzed spider,

and then one day venture forth

to replay
this grim desert drama.

Still at large in the vicinity,

the rattlesnake
is on the prowl again.

So far, this k*ller seems
to have had his own way,

but there are a few creatures
who dare to challenge him.

And one of these
is the red-tailed hawk.

And so this time, even as
the rattler st*lks his prey,

sudden death hangs
over his own head.

Flashing talons
strike for the head,

but the snake
is like a steel spring.

When the spring is coiled,
it's deadly.

The hawk finds an opening,
seizes the rattler's head,

and as suddenly as it began,
the violent conflict has ended.

But if death and destruction
stalk the living desert,

birth and rejuvenation
inevitably follow after.

New life, however,
depends on rainfall.

And so nature
brews up a tempest

and drives her thunderheads
over the mountain barrier.

In this land of extremes,
there are no half measures.

It's either no rain at all
or all at once,

and so the cloudburst.

Almost as suddenly
as they came,

the torrential rains disappear.

And yet more violent than the
storm itself is the aftermath,

for now miles away where
the desert lies silent,

untouched by the cloudburst,

an ominous rumbling is heard.

It seems to come from all
the canyons at once.

Suddenly from out of nowhere...

...a wall of water
on the rampage,

the flash flood of the desert.

On these barren hills,

the rushing waters
find nothing to hold them back.

And so from all sides, they
converge, become a torrent,

a raging river,
and finally a desert niagara.

In all these endless
miles of space,

the lost river
has nowhere to go.

Soon it
dissipates its strength.

Its currents span out
on the flats.

Water mixes with earth

until only a river
of liquid mud remains.

And finally the once raging
torrent is swallowed up

in the desert's
overwhelming vastness.

It would seem that nature has
brought water only to waste it,

for now the scorching sun dries
out the last bit of moisture.

Yet this is only the surface.

Moisture seeping
through the desert floor

has awakened dormant seeds.

The miracle of the flowers --

one of nature's
greatest triumphs.

In this floral galaxy,
the desert wild flowers

display their blossoms
in almost endless variety.

Poppies...

Lupine...

The primrose.

And in even the tiniest plants,

the surge of new life
is strong.

Throughout the desert,

the drab cactus plants
reveal their hidden beauty.

In daylight and darkness,
the pageant continues.

Now the night-blooming cereus
passes through its full cycle

in a single night...

From bursting bud
to full-blown flower.

Here is one of nature's
innermost secrets,

the heart of a living flower.

The flower fades
and withers away.

And yet in this
fantastic wonderland,

there are no endings,
only beginnings.

After every ebb, the full tide.

After every night, a new day.

And so it will be
through all of time.

This, then,
is the desert's story,

a story of the life-force
itself,

challenging and mysterious.

The eternal story
of the living desert.