from marrakech, we traveled on to scarabeo camp, where we slept a night under a velvet canopy of stars and a full, bright moon. it was cold in the desert, and we were surprised. when we rose to watch the sun come up, we pulled our blankets and each other close.
the desert was silent, shockingly so, and we spent our time reading books and sipping tea and gazing at stars. in the afternoon, we went on camel safari. in the evening, we gathered with the group for a lantern lit supper. always, we were stunned in our tracks noticing the way the dunes shift in color as the sun moves across the sky.
there's no real way to hold in my hands what it was to lay our eyes upon the sahara desert -- to stare at the snowy atlas mountains -- to watch as the wind whipped the sand into waves so smooth they might just be made of glass -- to stand on that continent with mine and ours. it was ineffable. it was every magical thing.
You gotta write that bookReplyDelete