Moon Dust

As our plane banked over Kuwait City in the middle of the night I was surprised to see so many sleak and stylish skyrises. A touch of Las Vegas neon and Toronto crispness. Big money here. A lot of oil apparently. We deboarded the plane and loaded a bus headed for Camp Beuring. When my boot hit the ground a cloud of dust rose and was swept away by the wind. "Moon dust," somebody said. Sombody who knows all too well what a year in the desert can mean for a soldier.

For me, the desert is perhaps the most beautiful landscape. In its harsh and hostile countenance there are hidden treasures...the beauty in the discovery of which is double-fold for how well it is burried and how well it's alure is isolated against a stark backdrop once uncovered. A sunset here hypnotizes the observer into a melting state of mysteriously deep appreciation. And a slow and hypnotic sunset here absorbs and reminds a soul just how far away tomorrow can be, and how ripe the night is for his purposed undertaking.