Mr

The desert was blinding and waterless. It was also beautiful.

Not in the picturesque way the Canyon had been, or the huge Redwood forests in Oregon, or the any of number of hidden beaches or shores along the northeast coast. No, the desert in Arizona is beautiful in a different way; like a secret. It hides its beauty beneath a facade of rolling dust and sand, like scouring powder. It is hotter than any other place I have ever been, but it warms me, all the way to the core until I think I might bake, quite literally. The wind brings the heat in waves as thick and dense as any the ocean has ever beaten against me.

Out there, in the desert, I can see for what might be parsecs in all directions. The expanse continues and continues with huge swatches of nothing; maybe a mesa or two on the all-too-distant horizon, but naught else. A hawk flies over from time to time, giving off a small screech that reminds me that I am not the only living thing left out here (or on the whole earth, for that matter), appearances to the contrary. It is easy to forget, walking with the sun and cacti for company, just what civilization feels like. The desert cooks that knowledge off, and by noon, thoughts pour out through sweat glands, replaced by nothing but more of that ever-present heat.

After mid-day, the sun begins its fall, but slow, like it is clutching for any purchase the sky might afford, but to no avail. The sky is azure and shear, and there is nothing to grab hold of, not even a cloud. I start to feel the heat dissipate, as the cool of night starts its hesitant creep in. In the desert, there is no middle-ground or neutral point. There are only extremes: hot and cold, day and night, black and white. By the time the last rays of sunlight sail under the horizon, the chill has set in, and I begin to shiver. My boiling blood freezes in its tracks, and I feel woozy. Things are moving out of the blue, and into the black.

Then I see the neon sign, except "see" isn't the right word for it, because I feel it