Yellow Light
The land rises and falls, a geological breath.
It rises into low brown hills of bare rock, and falls in small brown valleys of loose gravel. A sky faded from too much light, hangs very far above, unreachable. From it, the sun plunges down, ripening rocks and gravel, brush and thorns. The traveler does not choose his landscapes. He takes what comes. Instead of a forest he may find a desert, instead of a pond with the tiniest fish he may find an ocean that has no end. Some will tell him that he may find what he needs instead of what he desires. And he will tell them that he has no desires left because they have all turned into need.
His fears will travel with him, clinging to him with an endless love.