The morning was quiet, almost still except for a heat haze gathering off the flat, dry lake bed below. Sound seemed muffled, as if one were watching landscapes on television with the sound really low. My eyes pan across the sand brown vistas, the arid ridges of mountains darkened by sharp shadows already, so early in the morning. Insects did not stir, and I wondered how they would even survive the desert heat. It seemed not a thing stirred, except for myself and moving clouds above, casting shadows then wiping them off clean, revealing sharp jagged lines of white, bone, clay and celadon earth.
My foot slipped and the soft sound of small rocks rolling down the gorge broke the stuffy silence. Then a bird flew past, frightening me with it's vibrating wings, fluttering a hundred times a minute. It squaked and the sound echoed through the still air. I looked around and above me, searching for more signs of life. Then the buzzing of flies began; the ground began to move with ants going to work, laughter, loud yet indiscernable voices in the distance. The morning had broken its silence, and it seemed life began the day as capriciously as I had.
9:14 AM | |
