Peace

Today it’s been two weeks… I think. We have nine weeks left here. The desert has become such a part of me that I’m beginning to feel possessive of it. Yesterday, I went on my first official tour with 3 friendly New Yorkers and Ferris driving. I didn’t realize there were regular tourists out here, with their inappropriate clothing (not my crew, they were great!) And I’m not just talking about them wearing penny loafers and sports jackets and fancy jewelry, I’m saying some of them were wearing tank tops! I know, it’s the desert, you say, but out here it’s seen as being practically naked. Today, I wore my skirt that shows my ankles, and I feel very exposed. I really haven’t minded wearing clothes that cover me, especially since it’s been chilly. But even so, I like feeling as if I’m not tempting anyone and we men and women are much more on a friendly level (even with all the marital status questions). Anyway, the tourists are out there, snapping their photos, squinting, and walking awkwardly in the sand. I can’t wait for the afternoon to come ‘cause I know most of them will be gone. Only the more adventurous stay for the overnight Bedouin tent camping. And then the quiet will be back. Yesterday, I sat on an outcrop outside of the camp, watching the distant mountains, when two blackbirds flew by. I heard them before I saw them, not because of any squawking, but by the wind moving through their wings. I heard them for a long time like that and watched them disappear. Then it was all quiet again. In an early blog entry, while I was still in France, I mentioned jet trails and how they lure me away from where I am. Here, I have only seen one, and it was far and low on the horizon. It just looked like a line, though, not transportation. There’s nothing to take me away when I’m out there. It’s timeless. Even the four hour tour yesterday went on for a lot longer. No one had a watch on. Ferris would just lie down and take naps while the tourists scrambled on the rocks and up the dunes. He didn’t seem to care how long they took. At the rock bridge, Ferris built a fire and made tea. I sat with him for over an hour and we barely said five words, but there was nothing weird about it. We both just sat there by the fire and looked out to the rocks. Nothing more. The Ny-ers climbed on top of the bridge and lost track of time as well. Maybe that’s how Moses lived for hundreds of years. Maybe his body didn’t keep time. I know, I’m starting to sound like “Horse with no name” by America. They were right on, though. Peace.
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