Photo: Kitty Eldridge
On the long way from
Merzugha to Ouarzazate, as The Sahara starts to lose itself in the embrace of
The Atlas, you find The Oasis. Serenity, not grandeur, is what it holds. Just the
rich assortment of Broom Moss and Palm Dates punctured here & there by
small carpets of velvety-green grass. As the rugged serenity of Sahara starts
to mellow, the foreboding tranquility of Atlas starts to ascend.
There is no raging
moaning or mournful reticence. Sahara is placid, even playful, here; as the
blinding inferno gives way to a dappled calmness. Teasing the trees with handful
of sands and amusing herself with their mild annoyance before affectionately
brushing those off again. And if she feels too frivolous; she will caress the
date-branches, like a maestro idly fingering the harp, to create a music most
mystifying and wonderful.
Why there’s such
hush-hush here! Is it just for the tranquility, or is it the foreboding of
Atlas, to not disturb his never-ending watch! The murmuring streams
turn into silent pools while the drowsy Fennec twitches its ears at the
footsteps of a wandering beetle. The bees hum rather
than buzz and the occasional tweet sounds so awkward that the sparrows mutes themselves in
shame.
You turned a picture into poetry. ITS LOVELY
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