Sand dunes where mountains should be. Sculpted and painted by the wind. The wind an artist that knows no rest. The sand sculpture reformed and colors continued to change. The changes never heard a single cry of “But I liked it the other way!” No whimpered, “Why?” Just life, nature, wind, time, and change in motion.  The dune in the image not the dune before the lens snuggled against my eyes.

Just like this moment. No thing to hold on to. No thing to cling to. But oh, sweet mercy, never think such transitory and illusory state is barren. The barrenness awaits when we live outside the moment or steel ourselves from the Artist that knows no rest.