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  • Rain is the stranger.

    The stranger has rarely been seen in these parts. The familiar is the dry dust. Dustland is the familiar, dust is the enclosed community. Dust is the weird mean shelter. What does it mean to be a-lee when the wind blows the hardy souls not over waves or flat water now waving in wind, but over flat dust?

    The small den of shelter is a wide open land of unprotection.

    Rain is the stranger.

    Here comes rain over the horizon, here comes the stranger, we see the stranger approaching now, we see the stranger coming towards us. Yes. It will be true. It has to be true. The promised land comes to us, in the shape and form of that far-off shimmer.



    (Photo by Susan, Death Valley, 2005)
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