Postcard #3 - The Desert's Wish

Many days have passed since the desert sand saw the rider first. Like all her challengers, fresh and spirited. Now there is no mount and water is scarce. His shirt has become a dusty brown from a clear sparkling white rivalling the shine of her golden skin. Bright eyes had made her jealous and she had blown a sharp sand laden dart of air into them. Now she feels his shudder against the cold night, curled up, face against her sands. Her yellow ridges that make him squint in the day turn a bloody red in the moon-light, her words of warning. She knows her expanse. Why does he not heed her.

His beauty is like the rush of the water along her skin a long time ago. She sighs at his obstinacy. He feels a dry wind against his face.

She hopes he will turn where the wind blows. There is water there. Branches that end in green swaying spikes against a clear azure sky. A little oval of deep blue in her glowing vastness.