The Wind

This is the desert I missed and remembered. High, cold winds that cut through flesh and bone, that shake leaves ferociously from their winter dried branches, that steal the moisture from unprotected lips, and breath from unsuspecting lungs.

It screams its' existence as it rushes, eddies, slam dances through the city and unpopulated desert alike.

It moves the heavy smog out of the basin, away from the mountain ranges, carrying it somewhere ... any where ... else.

It gives birth to sand storms that can deceive at night with the look of fog and uses individual grains of sand like tiny blow darts, aimed for bared skin and unprotected eyes.