Dear Monsoon,

I really appreciate the way you always blow down those goofy palo verde trees. I mean, every Arizonan seems to think that they’re the pinnacle of lawn ornamentation, but really, they’re just weird-looking. Plus, their yellow pollen wreaks havoc on the sinuses of Tucsonans (thanks, by the way, for blowing that pollen around). So go ahead and knock them down. You always do, and we always prop them back up with sticks in hopes that it won’t happen again. But it does.

And hey, go ahead and uproot other foliage too. There’s nothing I love more than swerving to avoid a tree branch in the middle of the road, or worrying that the massive tree by my parking spot will collapse and crush my car.

I won’t be parking under a tree any time soon,

Miranda Butler

Dear Monsoon,

Like any desert-dweller, I view your annual visit with the same excitement I once awaited Santa Claus … only with less expectation of presents and more enjoyment of precipitation. But there’s something we need to talk about. As much as I enjoy gallivanting in a gentle summer storm, my vehicle-bound brethren are not quite as welcoming. Your downpour scares and confuses them, and their ability to operate a motor vehicle effectively suffers more than a competent cinema-goer tricked into seeing “”The Smurfs.”” And I, as a pedestrian who has yet to win a single altercation with a car, am forced to eschew my osmosis and seek refuge from the metallic terror and their shell-shocked controllers.

I’m not asking you to forgo your yearly visit entirely, but maybe you could be a bit more selective about when you show up. Like around 2 a.m., the only people up then are insomniacs and people of ill intent. Luckily, I fall under both categories.

Sorry to rain on your parade,

Luke Money

Dear Monsoon,

As a fellow Monsoon-er myself, I’d like to thank you for always keeping students on their toes during the first week of school. Wide-eyed freshmen venture onto campus, thinking that their new leather sandals and desert-appropriate attire will allow them both freedom and style in the sweltering, sweat-drenched days of summer. But you always end up breaking the monotony of syllabus-regurgitation and sunny campus walks with torrential floods of water, forcing students to wade through an instant river to get to class. I suppose it’s some bizarre cosmic joke to you that one of the sunniest places in the country would surprise newcomers with a flood of rain, but instead of resenting it, I thank you. Keep it up this year. We all need a little chaos amid the academic doom and gloom that comes after summer. I’ll bring my galoshes — or at least an umbrella.

Best,

Kellie Mejdrich

Dear Tucson gutters,

People have been gossiping in your absence. They say things like, “”Wow!”” and “”Why are the damn streets flooded?”” and “”It’s like we’re living in Venice!””

Just so you know, I don’t support that comparison. For one thing, our Rialto doesn’t hover over a canal, and the only tragedies our Greeks will speak of are Saturday morning wades of shame through semi-flooded streets.

That said, the touch of European peril your absence adds to our desert town seems to make some people happy. So keep up the good work, I guess?

You know where to find us,

Brandon Specktor