Why the Deserts are Dry

There was once a pantheon of gods and goddesses, celestial beings who shaped the universe as we know it. Each was assigned a planet to design. They all had their own aesthetic when it came to color, texture, and form. Some created mighty gas giants with harsh swirling hostile environments, impossible to inhabit, but so impressive to behold. Others favored stillness and silence, not unlike the vacuum of space itself.

Earth was unique, its mother an eccentric with a fondness for the color blue. She started with the oceans, flooding more than two thirds of the surface. The beings who swam made a kaleidoscope of curious shapes and movement. The land was covered in green plants, a tangled web of life, reaching towards the sun and soaking up the rain.

Word got around about Mother Earth. She had broken the mold with her invention of flora and fauna. The other gods were skeptical about such novelties and perhaps a bit jealous, but they could not deny Earth’s unique beauty. They gathered to discuss the curious blue planet in progress. She hadn’t even finished, and already she had critics.

“Your creations are so soft and fragile,” they said. “What is the purpose of all this life?”

“All the creatures live in harmony. They complement one another, you see. Even when a creature dies its body becomes one with the earth, enriches the soil, helping the plants grow.”

“I can do that,” shouted a brother god. This god had just finished creating the neighboring planet, Mars and was so pleased with the rocky red planet, that he had turned his sights on Earth, confident that he could do a better job of it. He seized the empty spots that remained on the landmass called Pangea and filled them with rocks and sand. He was not accustomed to making trees, so he produced a shape in his own image that stood tall and straight like a mighty god flexing his muscles. He was equally perplexed by leaves, so they came out as pointy needle-like protrusions. This was harder than he thought.

He took one of the tall hairless animals and placed it atop a four legged one like he’d seen Earth Mother do, then dropped them into his sandbox. But the creatures soon perished from the heat. There was no reprieve from the sun’s harsh rays. Brother god looked down over the fallen creatures, embarrassed. Earth Mother just smiled, lifted his chin, and said, “I like what you’ve done here, but it could use a few things.”

She revived the animals, giving the four-legged beast a hump to store fat on its back, so it could travel long distances without water. Then she added a few strategically placed rivers and adorned each of the thorny plants with colorful flowers.

The brother gods began to see how these elements fit together harmoniously. Yin and yang. Cooperation was the key to making the most beautiful places where creatures could thrive. The universe had an infinite number of planets and they would design them together in harmony forever after, each one more beautiful than the last.