A desert. A wilderness barren of life. Limited vegetation, sparse trees for shade, parched dry ground, and harsh winds that blow sand into the face of the sojourner. Moisture remains isolated to few and far between pools, infrequent torrential rainstorms, and dwelling deep in the pit of prickly cacti as an obscure source for the scant life found in this desolate place. A wanderer will quickly find that landmarks are rare and unpredictable, threatening the way and the wayfarer alike. The view in front and behind, left and right, is much the same— mounds of endless dunes challenging even the surest foot. Securing hope to escape the vast land proves next to impossible. The arid, sultry environment leaves the body parched and panting for relief. The wanderer can only be found in one condition— drenched.
Drenched of perspiration produced by the physical efforts of the campaign, of the effects of adrenaline coursing in response to fear as confusion builds, of the thought of threatened life, of tears that stain dust laden cheeks, depriving the body of the last bit of moisture necessary for survival. The soul betrays itself as it demands what the frame lacks, stealing what is required for its very own existence.
With the culmination of dehydration, the final trace of hope dwindles with the lowering sun over the horizon when the sight of an oasis is glimpsed. A rescue. A reprieve. The last leg is fought hard and fueled by the sustaining in sight, and aching knees hit the sandy bank of a vital and craved, counterfeit wellspring—nothing more than a mirage.
All hope is lost. The warm sand cradles the curled body that surrenders to defeat. Eyes close with the falling ray of light that peaks with its brightest perfection at the boundary of the earth. Depletion, dehydration, and hopelessness have won. Defeated and vulnerable, all efforts cease as breath is pulled and sucked involuntarily as the last instinctual efforts to sustain life are exhausted. The crusade was long and hard fought, and ultimately closing on a failure.
As if the desert unaware of its impending victory, it changes course and presents its last tactic. A torrential rain storm. From the darkened twilit sky, drops begin to descend that rapidly expand in size and speed and portion. The painful pummels rouse the fading one, delaying expiration. Arising from a stupor, sand washing down the extremities, reality awakening the mind. With hands outstretched and open, mouth silent but receiving, head back, eye closed, face directed at the heavens— living water is welcomed in and gulped and splashed and wiped as it revives and recovers and refreshes. It is collected and secured at the side, insurance for the remaining journey.
Soggy steps commence in saturated sand towards the shining star in the dark sky, sure and strong and fixed. The journey continues with life renewed—drenched in the desert. When the morning sun peaks with greetings of hope for a new day and the appearance of the destination, the weary traveler will glimpse the beauty that sprang forth in the darkness of night— colors of blossoms and bows, life and promise blooming in beauty in the most barren, painful place on earth.
And that is infertility.
