dunes

In Death Valley, the sand ripples at sunset like molten bronze and copper against a backdrop of rough and craggy verdigris with not a human in sight. Just the magically uniform tracks of tiny creatures scaling a polished dune. In moments the desert wind will have repainted the scene, never to repeat the same pattern. Such images suggest a version of that age-old question of the tree in the forest. When it falls, does it make a sound if there is no ear to hear it? In this case, is it beautiful if no eye beholds it? Perhaps it was just for God’s enjoyment and left for us ordinary folk to wonder. It is a celebration of life in a valley called Death.