As the last clarions of a Damara Desert sun cast a panorama that defies speculation or "real" record, we arrive in the quiet at dusk. Here great monoliths chant the solemn symphony of ages. The ancestral spirits of a quiet people call us to bear witness as long shadows fall over sinuous granite folds. Venus springs brilliant, into a gathering dusk.
The night becomes a vast field of distant suns hurling their meteor spears from the inky Absolute.
I sleep and dream of Pangea.
Before the dawn we rise to find great rose pyramids, slumbering giants awaiting sun strike.
The landscape takes on a spectacular drama, heralding a days extremes. A thermal roller coaster of nights and days splinters the granite skins which fall from scarp to talus.
Eagles roost high upon this granite eyrie, taking slow flight from it and soaring in the thermals of unstable air.
The San are still there and their compelling presence echoes far beyond the spirit hunt painted on the granite walls.