Badlands

           Pasty grays, chalks, whites, tans, and pale browns blended into a schematic eeriness.  The wind tugging, moaning at its efforts to dislodge the tent holding tenaciously at its tie-downs, caused the grasses to bend in homage.  The dusty creek wound its way empty handed through wind chiseled hills accented in its death drought by a full creamy moon.  the voice of the coyote blending in harmony with its environment offered little solace to my disquieted spirit.  My senses were alive with anticipation and sleep came with difficulty.

           The crispness of the morning crackled into my territorial reign.  The wind was asleep and the shadows receded into the crevasses.  Time was drawing away and anxiety pushed me to action.  It was a practice departure that allowed me to raze camp in minutes and quickly leave this haunted land.