Warm winds run along the mountain ranges of sand dunes, gently remolding them. These dunes reflect the golden orange sun that falls upon them from the setting sun. A smell of burning sand and sweat dominates the place. I cover my nose with a piece of cloth to stop breathing in dry dust. Behind me, are sounds of heavy metal tools clanging as the crew rummage through their supplies.
The scenery ahead is lonely. A few cacti cluster about in the far right. The sun submerges below the horizon at the edge of the never ending desert. The sky is blue, delicately mixing with the orange of the sun. A bird navigates it as it glides smoothly with it’s strong, white wings. It flaps them with enough power to move a car, pushing itself higher. The sand below the surface is colder than the scorching surroundings. It’s tiny brown particles flow through my hands like water from a river. A gentle wind caresses the faces of all waiting for the bus to be fixed. Whoosh. The sand dunes kneel in it’s direction.
A woman sprays some floral perfume scents around herself. The smell of the spring flowers is so strong, it masks all other odours. A couple near this woman argue about the bus trip. They shout and gesticulate wildly at each other with no regard to the judgement they face from others. Their voices contrast starkly with the silent surroundings.
I feel at home here. The silence, the solitude and the peace is all I have been looking for in my travels. If only I could stay and build a home at this spot, overlooking the dry picturesque sand — blanketed paradise. All I can do now is make it a box on my bucket list, a picture on my fridge, a dream so far away from me that it’s absence won’t be missed.
