Poetry/Prose

Desert Sands

 

Sifting, shifting small pieces of stone form a mound and a mountain that can bring an SUV to its knees. This is the power of sand, and of a desert full. I never knew that a desert without a visible end could bring me to such a state of awe as the sea does, but it has. Nature’s majesty has shown me another face, and I like it.

In fact, I don’t think about it nearly as much as I am simply infatuated with it. If it weren’t so hot, I’d go out to the desert every weekend and tell it my troubles. I’d shout if I had too—with joy or with pain. And I would trust that it went somewhere, somewhere huge. It’s funny, but with all of the buildings and pavements, the place feels smaller, full of boundaries and it feels like there are so many ears but whatever you would shout would disappear in a silent void of business—we are busy, and we are deaf.

But the desert, well, it’s a lover of the sea—it is the child of the sea and its foundation at the same time. The relationship is mystical and they share their strengths. The waves of understanding wash over me as I sit at the edge of the tide … and so too do I feel a sense that the desert, born from the sea, is even more absorbing of my troubles, even stronger, even more resilient, even more supportive, yet the next day, the grains are totally different and totally new and totally able to see me that way, too.

It’s the nature of this place, this sifting, shifting, soft, warm, hot, burning, desire, supportive, forgiving and absorbing place that creates the temperment of the people here and alters that of the visitor.

Now a little more: nothing lasts in the desert my friends said. But I think that depends on the perspective. Of course the grains are shifting, the wind is whipping, the days and nights are dripping and wringing themselves out into one another until not a soul could tell you what day or time it is without a watch or sun dial or iDashboard. It’s just sublime and for some uncomfortable. And it’s just nature here, here it is. And the birds fly with their mouths agape, waiting for convection to work its cooling magic on their little bursting bodies. Oh those birds, they are so gorgeous, calling into the air … never in vain it seems, chirp, chiiiiirp, woo-woo-wo-wo-wo, bratlebratlebratle. …. It’s so amazing!

The sun too, it is reflected off of the infinite tiny mirrors in the grains in the dunes in the desert and the city and it’s intense.

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