Track number 2 of Philip Glass' album, Uakti - Aguas Da Amazonia begins in my noise-excluding ear buds. The stiff wind blows a 6 inch layer of fine sand along the dry beach; it peppers my ankles and mimics warmth on my skin as I face the invisible source of a chilly wind. Counterpuntal xylophones hum in my ears with and the sky is a wonderful warm gray. The beach looks like the plains of western Kansas in a blizzard. It feels as though I don't even have to use muscles of inhalation if I hold my head right. I can feel my cheeks reddening to the chill. I cannot hear the waves. I cannot hear birds. I am the only soul on the beach. I am one of two souls existing on the planet. Mr. Glass and I walk in an undulating, perpetually shifting mist of sand, with my footsteps first blurring, and disappearing behind me as I create them.

I think, "I must not let my camera get sand in it." This repeats in my mind and becomes my afternoon's mantra. I swear, someday I'm going to get one of those waterproof housings that divers use for underwater photography, and snap away in hostile environments with impunity. I will ignore the perplexed gazes and snide remarks and will feel safe because my camera is safe, thank you very much....May I have a glass of tea please? I'm parched, thanks. My my, but isn't this just the nicest glass of tea....

I start to the realization that there are three horses approaching from the distance, walking with the wind just out of reach of the lurching attempts of the sea to bathe their hooves in primordial saline. I cannot yet make out the species or gender of their riders. "Hmm, yes. homo sapiens," I finally decide. I must find a place to let these symbiotic organisms pass without knowledge of my presense. I must capture them in their natural element or there will be no tea and snacks. There will be none to be had.

They pass as I hunch behind a dune in clandestine observation, like Paul Atreides, the Kwisatz Haderach from the planet Dune, in his less pan-galactic years. As I take a volley of shots, I imagine how different this scene would be if the horses were minus their tourist mounts - sundering across my desert without names - feeling good to be out of the rain behind them, as Dewey Bunnell of the band America sorta/kinda said.

I love this beach....I must not let my camera get sand in it.
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