Little by little, we fall silent; words fail us. Visitors to a place that aspires to tranquility, we penetrate an inner circle of an extraordinary silence, which glides overhead like a bird of prey. To some, this can seem oppressive; I find it strangely compelling. A feeling of peace comes over me when faced with the desert’s benign indifference. It mocks our modern urge to hurry; it soothes our worries over the coming day, and our regrets about yesterday. Our eagerness to live, which soars with the rising sun above the haven where we have spent the night, flows until dusk like a hidden spring, in a space as anonymous as that where we make our temporary home at night. Time is gathered in each grain of sand and eternity slides past, drop by drop.
Jean-François Chaix, “An Intimate Vastness”
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