There was no mistaking the plumes’ trajectory. Drive through it I must to make it home. I drove right into it. Whiteout conditions---they should have closed the road. I turn on the headlights to make myself visible. Hopeless, really, as I can not see road nor auto ahead. Wind whips the sand across the highway.
The patrol car races by, colored lights bright and crystal clear; blue, red, deep colors stand out against the white cloud surrounding it. Vehicles crawl near the edge of the road afraid to go to fast, courage lacking, angst ridden they avoid the center of the lane. There it is! End of the rainbow for the cop car, no pot of gold only shattered chrome. A handful of cars spread like jacks in the other lane.
They line the side of the road like fans at a sporting event---but these are the players. One hunched over, one walking and covering mouth and face with cloth, one running- head and neck protected with shirt worn Lawrence of Arabia style. In my minds eye I see a Mideast village, the townsfolk covered, pelted by stone. Now I see them out my car window: crimson red, solid green, white tee-shirts; Cibachrome colors against a wind that whitewashes all else.
Still the wind pelts our players. They stagger in sand, averting the dust as they move toward the sound of the sirens. With wind gusts of up to seventy-two miles per hour clean up will not be easy.
The vehicles continue their crawl past the wreckage. Looking out my side-window I nearly plow into the car ahead of me. Dust and debris make normal speed unwise.
We clear the site and head on home.
Cibachrome prints are marked by stunning sharpness, intense color and clean whites. Plush reds and solid blacks leave no room for grey area and shadow. Dust may blow into our lives violently or we may invite it in. Bold colors and honorable hues are a direct result of choices we make minute by minute…solid cibachrome color or dust in the wind.