Sand Blasted
It started with a hissing wind. It’s not a cool refreshing breeze that quenches you on a hot day. It’s the kind of wind that burns, scorching your skin. You don’t hesitate when you hear that sound and see the swarm of sand rising higher and higher. I took refuge in my tanker truck. I checked the windows to see that they were sealed tight. I watched as the dunes rose up only to wash over my truck like a wave crashing down on a beach. It sounded like sheets of sandpaper being scrubbed against the sides of my fuel truck.
The whirling tornado of desert only tortured my tanker and the surrounding area for a few minutes but the damage was visible. The paint on the truck had been dulled by the grit and the windows had an etched appearance to them that only sandblasting can do. I could see that the curtain in the window of the checkpoint building had been ripped away and the flag that dangled from the pole, over time, had been shredded and sand eaten by the abuse of the wind and constant storms.
Stepping out of the truck I stood stunned by what the power of mere powder and wind could do. I was brought back to reality by the sound of static and clicking coming from my handheld radio.
“You okay?” squawked the voice.
“Yeah, I’m good”, I responded, “but the truck’s not going to start after that mess. I need to be picked up.”
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Memories of my military time. Sandstorms are BRUTAL, but these times were and are meaningful to me. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
Find joy. Be joy. Enjoy.
New Ink. Used Ideas. 