At some point in the last couple of months, the crunchy dead grass gave way to exposed dirt and the wind kicked up this dirt, which now hangs in the sky.
A couple of days ago it threatened to rain and the dust slowly descending on clouds, two horizons of earth meeting.
When it did rain, it rained dirt and the next day every car in town was covered in streaks of it, lines at the local car wash now regularly extend into the street with people banned from washing their cars at home.
Washing your car on your front lawn now seems like a luxury almost too wasteful to have ever been true, much like sprinklers, which are now foreign objects, nostalgic symbols of bygone Australiana like really tanned dads in high-cut shorts, holding cans of VB.
Amongst this though, roses bloom, flowers of the desert.