Dust

The downside of living in the desert is that dusting becomes a daily chore. On those glorious windstill days, I can easily ignore the talcum powder dust sneaking into the house, but on those days when the wind howls, I can see how it slowly wants to engulf our house. My husband often tells me that “men don’t see dust” as a way of keeping me sane, but it is of no consolation to me on most days.

I woke up during the middle of the night to the sound of the wind, but instead of closing the gaping windows as any sensible person would, I left them open to allow the chill of the night to enter. So, of course, I had to scrape away at the dunes that were starting to form on our dining room table. I guess it could be worse. It could have looked like the road between Swaib and Madam on which we traveled recently during a dust storm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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