The Sahara
Does the Sahara have a voice?
The wind can speak in terrifying roars, whipping the dunes into a fury. The grasses and trees that grow can be heard whispering among themselves. The grains of sand chitter and hiss if you listen.
But the dunes themselves seem mute, getting our attention instead through infinite spectrums of form and color.
Their imposing peaks, their sinuous curves; there is movement in their stillness, humility in their magnificence. They provide the permanence of a mountain range, but flow like a river, shapeshifting before our very eyes.
The milky, pinky taupe colors of morning seem aloof, preoccupied, while the golden caramels of noon belie a deadly indifference as the sun rises to power. The ripening brilliant oranges of evening tease survival, and the seductive, fiery russet reds after sunset celebrate the coming of night, when the desert reawakens and comes to life.
Eventually, all fades into an endless, inky blackness, keeping the desert's secrets well hidden beneath a tapestry of stars.
Does the Sahara have a voice?
I think the desert speaks to all who will listen, even her silence is a symphony. What is she saying? Perhaps only those born of the desert can truly know. Her lessons are many and man's life but a sigh.
The Sahara
Does the Sahara have a voice?
The wind can speak in terrifying roars, whipping the dunes into a fury. The grasses and trees that grow can be heard whispering among themselves. The grains of sand chitter and hiss if you listen.
But the dunes themselves seem mute, getting our attention instead through infinite spectrums of form and color.
Their imposing peaks, their sinuous curves; there is movement in their stillness, humility in their magnificence. They provide the permanence of a mountain range, but flow like a river, shapeshifting before our very eyes.
The milky, pinky taupe colors of morning seem aloof, preoccupied, while the golden caramels of noon belie a deadly indifference as the sun rises to power. The ripening brilliant oranges of evening tease survival, and the seductive, fiery russet reds after sunset celebrate the coming of night, when the desert reawakens and comes to life.
Eventually, all fades into an endless, inky blackness, keeping the desert's secrets well hidden beneath a tapestry of stars.
Does the Sahara have a voice?
I think the desert speaks to all who will listen, even her silence is a symphony. What is she saying? Perhaps only those born of the desert can truly know. Her lessons are many and man's life but a sigh.