Progression of Dirt
Click to viewPROGRESSION OF DIRT
Monument Valley
The wind blows it in. You're blinded. You're battered. You're sandblasted. Then for a minute the wind stops. Dirt spirals at your feet. You whip your head to the west to see if more is coming. Before you complete your turn, a gust fills your mouth with grit. The cycle continues. You stand at the same curve in the dirt road for decades. Dirt comes but never goes. Wind just keeps slapping you with open palm layers of dirt. And you take it. You find beauty in it. Even when tears run down your cheeks in mud. Even when you try to run but your legs won't move. You stand choking on your own hair and a half century of dirt. You make your eyes see and understand that all of this is the same and all of this is different. And you take it. You take every grain of it. A rez dog wanders in and out of the scene. He licks at your bleeding ankles, dirt and all. On a good day you can taste like a good steak and feel like one too.
