The desert. She can be hot and mean during the day, but in the mornings and evenings she’s on her best behaviour. After only a week, I was already getting acquainted with the natural cycles of desert days and forming a daily routine. At 4am, I would awake while the world around me still slumbered. With my headlamp guiding the way, and the only sound accompanying my trek in the sand being the clicks or hums of insects notifying me of their presence, I would start persistently making my down the trail, trying to hike as many miles as possible before the sun would demonstrate her exuberant heat.
Early morning light encroached on the dark shadows of the night, forcing them to unveil themselves as dawn made its appearance. Details of shrubs, cacti, and the distant scenery became increasingly visible. Valleys were shrouded in heavy oceans of fog, the palpable moisture in the cool clean air was refreshing, I enjoyed it, knowing that every passing minute was lifting it closer to its disappearance.
The sun always made a spectacular entrance. A soft palette of pastel colours would announce her arrival. Then, minute after minute, brilliant orange gold would start creeping over the horizon. A simply magical moment. No sunrise is ever the same, its ephemerality tastes bittersweet. All you can do is stop and stare – take in the present moment, and make pitiful attempts to capture the spectacular scene with a camera lens, but it never quite does it justice.
As the morning continued on, the sun staked her bold claim on the day with increasing heat. The early commuters would start buzzing by, bumbling into the day. By 9am, the full-blown highway would be underway, in the air and on the ground.
Flies and bees buzzed past at break-neck speeds, in a rush to get to wherever they were going. Every now and then I would get smacked in the face by a careless creature. The beetles and grasshoppers took more care into where they were going, having slower and more deliberate flight paths. The thrumming sound of a hummingbird invading my personal space to inspect me, would often catch me off-guard and cause my heart to skip a beat at the sudden intrusion of the loud noise.
The ground was very much alive as well. Lizards of all shapes, colours, and sizes, skittered around, trying to catch a meal and on the look-out for my comparatively large, clumsy feet. Long-eared hares would be seen bolting between shrubs. Meanwhile, snakes would ease into the day, spending the first few hours of the morning lounging on the sun-baked path, until of course, I disturbed their peace and sent them slithering away in dismay.
Now, ants, they were everywhere – but in an ordered fashion. They occupied a wide range in colours and sizes, and they were always on the move, marching with dedication in long, thick lines. I always tried to watch out for them, making sure to step over their queues so as not to disturb their phenomenal organization. The funny thing about ants, is that they are very dedicated to the direction in which they need to go, meaning they will crawl over any peculiar object set in their path. Whenever I took a break, I always had to be very careful with where I decided to place my pack – an important lesson I learned in the early days of my journey. A few times, without thinking, I had accidentally placed my pack on an ant commuter line. As a consequence, I felt sudden pinching pains on my back and hips of the unhappy ants being carried away for some time afterwards.
There was a wingless creature that looked like a mix between an ant and a honeybee. It acted like an ant but marched solo at a surprisingly fast speed along the sandy ground in a disorganized zig-zag pattern – suddenly stopping and accelerating like a bloodhound on a mission to pursue a scent. They looked very cute with their fuzzy abdominals, usually adorned in a striking deep red or yellow colour. I later discovered they’re not ants at all! They’re actually wingless wasps, with a misleading name of velvet ants, or also known as cow killer ants. I loved to stop and watch them speedwalk. I was tempted to touch their seemingly soft, fuzzy backs, but didn’t dare, knowing that an animal with a bright colour like that usually packs a punch.
One of my favourite friends were the harmless, big, desert stink beetles. They had what I thought was a very inefficient way of walking, with their long, lanky legs hobbling over the desert’s sand granules. They also looked forlorn – frequently stopping, as if forgetting where they were going. They moved slowly, seeming to be in no rush to get to where they needed to go, wherever that may be.
Boundless beauty was seen in all kinds of different flowers and desert vegetation. The air was heavy with a thick aroma of smells – a concoction of blooming shrubs, cactus flowers, sage brush, and other deliciously smelling herbs.
Usually from 10am to 3pm I would find some shade and a water source, if I was lucky, and wait for the heat of the day to pass. I would make myself lunch, and then try to take a nap. Sometimes I succeeded in getting some rest, which was a delightful way to pass the time. Other times, it would be too hot, or the biting flies would be too annoying. In those instances, I would do some journalling, or simply sit and wait for 5 hours to go by. Sometimes, if I was lucky, some hiker friends would join me, which always helped to make the time go faster.
In the evening, the commuters wound down their hurried activity, and the air lightened up with a cool, welcoming breeze. Sunsets brought upon a similar notion of focusing on the present moment. Bold colours of orange, purple, and pink bid farewell to the day. After the sun disappeared over the horizon, soft colours would linger in the sky, caressing the world to sleep.
Very nice
The way your describe your day and surroundings is captivating as I was there myself 👏