exaresco

I desire a road trip. Anywhere that is as dry as can be, away from any lakes, rivers, and oceans. Death Valley, perhaps.

Towards a boulder I walk. It seems so close, no more than a few paces away. But walk and walk I might, I never reach the boulder. It's only an arm's length away, my mind would insist. Hush, I say, this is the desert.

And you, you are at the opposite end of this salt basin. So far away you are, my eyes fail to find you. Yet I hear you whisper my name under your breath as if you whisper it right into my ears ever so softly. Yes, this is the desert.

The deadening silence. The diffracted sense of perception. It is to this sublime nature that I vow, my last sacred temple.

Race Track, Death Valley, California (source: Radeka Photography)
(I wish I could have used my own photo from my trip there two years ago.
Unfortunately, all photos came out underexposed--
I was still using film camera then.)