SandScript 2021

Sarah Bryg
Light Travels From A Dead Star
Drawing, Pen and Ink 10”x14”
that I run with beauty all around me. The
Little Wind whirls, picking up sand and
carrying it in a column, as it continues
to sculpt the sands. The Little Wind has
decided to run with me.
It isn’t long before I am breathing
hard, my core temperature rises, and
I begin to sweat. My body, a bipedal
mobile canteen, provides moisture to the
thirsty desert. It wicks away my sweat,
leaving me feeling cooler. I feel the
fatigue in my lower leg muscles and my
hip muscles start to strain. I push myself
since I know I will get to the end of the
sands soon.
I struggle up the face of one dune
and peek down at my feet half buried in
sand with each step. I see another facet
of these dunes. Each step causes the
sand to flow downhill, carrying me down
with it. I have to step faster, to continue
my upward climb, further straining my
muscles.
“You know, you’ll get the same
work out if you walk these dunes,” says
my common sense. “Walking? You can
double time or you can double chin,” says
my knuckle dragger side. An image of
rippled abs flow across my mind but it only
reminds me of the ripples in the dunes.
The undulations of the terrain, like
tan waves frozen in place, sap my will to
soldier on, but fortunately I can see the
edge of the dunes. It’s not endless. It only
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