Canyon

Fine dust covers everything, from their feet to their lashes. A normally non-responsive surface becomes a canvas for little foot prints. From where I sit, I can admire the art.

The sun washes every surface. The shade has long since retired. Colour is dictated to; design is defensive. But there´s nowhere to hide, no escape. The sunlight dances across the surface of the last dew drops.

Air cannot be breathed. Hot as cinders, it is sucked across the sun to strike against bare skin. Burning faces, raw as blisteres can all but endure the rays, while we enjoy the sunshine.