The paper-white sky lies crisply along the horizon, separate from the natural sand, like two opposing colours on an artist’s palette. Rugged edges dance along the page; ink flowing from a fountain pen in sepia lines, gradually coming together to form the ruins of a building. To form a shadow of glory. Fingerprint-smudges of emerald chalk become small shrubs that freckle the canvas. Honey sunlight drizzles over the desert, christening it a sparkling gold hue.
I run towards the temple so fast that I am sure my breaths will infect the art with dark blots of charcoal. Even my speeding heart seems to paint a red ribbon across the image, leaking blood into the perfect desert. Chestnut landscape after chestnut landscape speeds past me. Desert thorns scrape my ankles.
Legs shaking in wobbly pencil lines, I come to rest at the entrance. A shadow falls on the building. Spilt velvety ink. A geometric mosaic of tiles lies embedded in the ground as though splashed with watercolours. Although some tiles are chipped, they still lay together in their intricate puzzle – harmoniously coming together like specks of starlight to form a large amber sun. Brush strokes of gold paint lick the tiles, stretching into its dazzling rays.
I bend down to stroke the terracotta tiles when I am aware of a sudden change. The artist stops his sweeping brush strokes, replacing them with harsh diagonal slits of rain that pierce the paper sky. Great drops of rain glide down my arms, soaking into the ceramic ground. Fresh shrubs sprout from the soil into an eruption of greens and browns. Sweet earthy scents spring from the land, twisting in the air and tickling my nose.
Magenta blossoms crawl out from behind jade leaves: transforming the desert into a young refreshing jungle. Dyeing the brown landscape a brilliant rainbow. Tiny clay beetles pat along the forest floor. Regal tigers yawn, exposing their pastel pink tongues. Red crayon parakeets sing the carnival melody. Clay beetles crawl. Regal tigers yawn. Red parakeets sing. Beetles. Tigers. Parakeets.
Silence.
I open my eyes to see the dusty soil has once again become just that. The temple is no longer framed by dapples of palm leaves and neon tree frogs. The sky is no longer streaking indigo blue. There is no longer an animalistic and organic playlist of sounds echoing around me. The earth is instead a chalky grey again, the sky is filled with desolate quiet.
I run a hand through my hair. It’s dry.
It hasn’t rained in 3 sun cycles.
