.... She began climbing, making messy stumbling footprints, so unlike the neat double row of camel foot prints she had once seen disappearing over the sand dune.
At last she reached the top, and stood panting for a moment, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, revelling in the silence- in a space - in the suddenly subdued magnificence of this powerful, yet visually barren land.
Beautiful, Crescent shaped dunes had curly overhanging tops. Wind ripples had decorated them, like marks left by receding tide. But she had seen all this before, she have stopped for another reason. A reason, that even now was difficult to believe.
By day, the brilliant silver sun beat down on the desert sand which reflected its rays in a glare of white heat. By day, the dunes were stark, arid, nothing but wind blown sand. But now, with the rapid approach of evening, it was as if the sand was soaking up the life and vigour of the setting, blood red sun. Beneath her feet and all around The Giant curling dunes what taking on a new deep, rich glowing colour -- their shadow patterns twisting and snaking bringing a primaeval movement of their own. The dying Sun seemed to give the dunes a throbbing , pulsating life.
It was more than magical -- it was beautiful. A wild, untamed, inexplicable beauty. So unexpected, so transient .... when the sun finally set -- the sand would die again
