Job 38:25-27 "Who has cut a channel for the rain, to bring rain on a land where no one lives, on the desert, which is empty of human life, to satisfy the waste and desolate land, and to make the ground put forth grass?"

          It’s hard to form the remoteness of the Australian desert in the readers’ mind. A forlorn lizard scampers to the safety of its modest home, avoiding the sweltering heat that surrounds it like an ever-burning potter’s furnace. The only escape from the relentless heat is the shade provided by the protruding overhangs of ancient rock. The landscape is a vast and barren fortress of immense sand dunes as far as the eye can see. Shimmering waves rise off the sunburnt earth, melting the distorted landscape. Snake-like ripples are produced by the surging winds, littering the otherwise untouched dunes. Their pervasive presence sweeps through the Spinifex, emitting an ominous cry of distress; foreshadowing the battle that has yet to come.

          Above, moisture laden clouds begin to gather ominously, holding the sky back from collapsing. For a brief second the sun peers out, as rays of vivid yellow are reflected in an infamous mirage, stretching across the horizon like a giant mirror. A far off rumble heralds the approaching onslaught. The unmistakable earthy smell of rain brings with it the heavy air filled with moisture. The hills seem to appear gray, cloaked in a shroud of mist as the rain begins to fall in the distance. Closer at hand the clouds menacingly flash with lightning, stabbing the blackened sky. 

          The sudden fall in temperature makes each hair stand erect. Crystal beads of liquid begin to aimlessly fall from the heavens. Each drop instantly absorbed by the red, blood like sand, a metaphor for the death of the previous landscape. The sky erupts in a cry of pain, thunder cracks like a thousand gunshots. The rain intensifies, steadily descending on the earth like an immense army. The storm gives a new atmosphere to the desert; the usual dry and desolate feeling is stripped away and replaced with a soft, soothing sensation. The moisture in the air presses into your skin, feeling like an invisible quilt draped across your body. As the next burst of thunder starts, finches begin to ruffle their feathers in their joyful ritual. While they dance, the rain seems to jump off their bodies as though trying to escape.

          Then, as abruptly as the storm started, it ceases. The gunfire stops. The army leaves. The clouds hang around for a moment longer, but soon dissipate as though the sky has shed its coat, leaving behind a pale blue skin. The blanket of moisture has lifted and the atmosphere becomes cool and light. The sinking sun in the west painted a masterpiece spread out across the sky. Each gentle stroke spreads a different shade of crimson and violet. Gradually it also fades away, never to be seen again.

          While attempting to overtake the desert, the storms army instead brings new life to the land. Rising from the sand, shoots of young wattles begin to litter the once bare dunes. An array of scarlet seemingly explodes from the previously dried desert peas. Termites that were previously awoken by the rain commence a delicate show of flying acrobatics. The small dancing finches now wallow in the shallow pools amongst the rocks, picking off the each termite that venture to close. Finally the final remnants of the sun sink beneath a distant dune, leaving only the bitter chill of the night.