Harold Carr

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home :: writing :: 2005-02-03-imaginingTheDesert.html

Thu, 03 Feb 2005

imagining the desert

A movement towards light, towards clear liquid sound. Only blinding sun on sand, an ocean of silicon, could produce a memory reaching back to the continent's edge. That line where earth meets water. Where two worlds seemingly so strange that only the thought of a sleepless night alone on a hillside covered with sage brings the beast to meet the man.

Clocks tell the story. Over and over while walking, endlessly walking in dry desert heat over shifting trails that disappear after each footstep. It's hard to say which part of the tale is memory and which part is wish. Each step a breath, beat, pulse, a ripple on the surface of skin so transparent that history and hope merge in a dance of falling leaves.

Red and gold. Lips and kisses. Promises worth waiting for but impossible to see, to know. Still, continuing seems to be the only desirable action. So, standing at the wall, book in hand, moving quietly over flagstones towards that moment when everything lost is found, is set out in a row stretching out over the horizon, begging to be followed, pleading to be understood.

And somehow it all becomes clear, completely clear just as the sun sets, leaving everything covered in a fine dust. Never to be touched. Never to be missed. Never to be seen again.

Is there some way to ...

(text for the film - "And Now Ladies and Gentlemen")

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Harold Carr

Harold Carr