hold a desert, feel its hand

The desert is full of magic.
Our drive into Joshua Tree was a steady incline into mountains and a rainy sky that seemed to swallow us whole. We listened to Mazzy Star. The arid air had been dampened by the day's rain but not single breeze flew by - the combination of the chill and stillness reminded me so much of Alaska, a nothingness so profound that the soul quiets down. An intoxicating scent of sandalwood, aloe leaves, and the creosote bushes saturated the land. As we hiked I tried to take in as much as the fragrance as possible, to bask in it, to imprint it onto my memory, to enjoy its gloriousness right at its source. The clouds which had blanketed much of our trip suddenly began to part just as the sun was beginning its descent. I found myself surrounded on all sides by mountains made of boulders, all of them glittering with the richest orange glow I'd ever seen. My photos, I fear, don't do it justice. Together we sat watching the sun dip below the horizon. Sky became art as the clouds reflected an array of blues and pinks and reds. We shuffled our Tarot cards. Illuminated only by candlelight and the last little wisps of the sun, we let the desert's magic fill our hearts.