The jeep bounces along the uneven track. Sand reaching interminably to the distant horizon far off on both sides. We shift and turn constantly, marvelling at the alien landscape. Nothing can prepare you for the aridity of a desert. I grew up breathing gentle rolling fields; greens, yellows and browns, broken only by lines of hedgerows. Land and sky alive with rabbits, birds and insects. The sky ever shifting through blues, greys, the intense flashes of reds and purples, twilight and dawn. Clouds stack high, piling up and crashing down in violent storms. But in the desert the world exists in two colours; sand, unbroken blue sky or impenetrable complete blackness. The jeep pauses for a solitary wolf, the only sign of life for an hour. Isolation encloses as we turn back for the coming night, stars appear in the dark blue sky. The moon, nearly whole and bright rises ahead of us, hovering over this silent, empty, ancient, promised land. Even the familiar body is alien, looking far off and lost in the mosaic of stars. Darkness comes quickly as the jeep bumps onto the highway.
The jeep swings confidently through the evening traffic, as the city lights up for the night. Through the centre the shops lit brightly are lively and in the open air outside restaurants feasts are shared by families and friends in the warmth of the night. The incessant wind tugs at napkins, tablecloths and clothes and hair. The salty sea breeze filling the air, driving out the desert sand from my arid parched lungs. We do not notice the jeep pull up for a large group leaving a hotel, too deep in discussion about the desert in quiet reverent muted tones that still seep through our eyes.
Sitting under the harsh electric light I sip at water and concentrate on getting the amazing last two days onto a postcard, riding through sunrise to the airport, flight, military airport landing, desert, tour diving in tropical waters, the nights out with friends. I feel I could write forever and not do justice to it. Now I have to condense it to a single postcard. I write rapidly as events fly through my mind, bidding for them to slow down. I address the card to my grandparents and turn it card over to study the sunset on the other side. The colour are the tapestry that we watched as we arrived home minutes earlier. A knock on the door and muffled shouted voices make me drop the card and jump up to head out into the night.
The sun sends reds and purples dancing across the sky. The distant sandy shore of the far off desert lights delicately with the celestial patterns. The moon, whole and unbroken, rises again with immeasurable patience over the barren land. We sit close together on a beach, miles of blue-green tropical sea ahead, fringed by barren desert hills. Heads resting together, we whisper about the coming night, sights around us, the holiday and life, the way of things. As the last remaining light scatters, we stiffly stand up and shake off the evening chill as we walk slowly towards the hotel, watching the dark sea and desert pass.
There is something about a desert at night. It is the Silence. Silence enfolds wholly. Silence burns bright. Only here do I notice its completeness. Between bursts of laughter, between notes of music, between breaths of life, between steps of feet. Silence fills the void. Silence shattered by trickling water, whispering breeze in leaves, the snapping of wood, the crackle of fire. But in the eternal emptiness between, Silence expands and fills, flowing like water to fill any space. As water becomes a cup, a pan, a tea pot, so Silence becomes the woods, the room, and the universe. But Silence is impossible, Silence screams. Even our warm haven of sleep is filled by whispering dreams and screaming nightmares. Silence is broken, dismantled and shredded. Only to come back, stronger. Silence draws itself to us, sharp, painful, unbidden. We live in a world were Silence is attacked, abhorred. When it comes, Silence fills our world like the blackest of nights, clinging cold to our spirit and catching our breath. The Silence of this empty, barren wasteland extends for mile after arid mile. The blinding hostility of the desert day falls to the blind hostility of the night. Silence ruling both. Above at random stars appear as the final threads of the sun fall over the horizon.
Part 4 is released tomorrow.
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