In Siwa

In Siwa,

Sunset is a wholly different experience for it develops in absolute silence - as in space. The dab of redness in the sun hints the scorched sand of its ensuing relief. Every grain, its back once turned to shield from the fierce heat, now turns again to face the stars shining clearer and clearer through waning sunlight. Every grain in the Great Sand Sea finds a partner in the sky on which to fix its sight.

The springs and lakes, the life of the oasis, rest seemingly untouched by the sun's departure. The great lake upon which thick sheets of salt float, to which the sandy shore is but a mere extension, sits as calmly as it has ever done throughout the many centuries of time. The springs of sulphur churn their warm reddish core bringing heat from the depths of the earth to the surface. The waters of Cleopatra's bath feel the stone surrounding them cool and the day's silent, gliding birds depart.

The Temple of Oracle Amun, and the tomb of Alexander, cloak their glory with mystery. The exposed mummies of Dakrur sense the twilight with yearning.

A slight breeze stirs the air as the sun begins to dip behind a cliff. The sun's sleepiness is celebrated with the flickering lights of the old village in the distance.

At the salt lake, to capture the last rays of sun he walks through the solidified sand, crunching and echoing in the absolute silence. His gaze follows a straight line from the tip of his toes to the horizon. Before turning he pauses. I hold my breath in awe of the moment. In awe of the silence that holds us willing slaves, of the aesthetic perfection, of the spiritual eruption.

Then I realized I was holding a camera.