Mirage
It felt like being in a crowded parking lot, when someone way up ahead is waiting for that choice spot. No one can move in or out. Or forward.
Only we were in the desert, not in a parking lot. There were no cars around. Not even a road. Scrub, dust and old rock filled our view all the way to the pass leading to Mirage, our destination.
Oh yeah, it was stifling hot.
The three of us walked steadily, but we made no discernible progress. We were on a hot, dusty treadmill.
Avery and Joe were my companions. We had water, extra shoes, sun block and our purpose — a package to deliver.
Joe makes a great companion. But he reminded me of walking on the beach with a five year old, who keeps a good pace unless they see a shell or shiny object revealed by the receding surf. Keeping him on task was a task in itself.
And he talked non-stop about returning to his favorite city, Summit. He pointed to it in the distance but I couldn’t see it. At our altitude, it should have been obvious. Joe described its alabaster walls rising into golden sunlight and shady trees laden with delicious fruit. He indicated a bright spot at the base of the mountain to the right of our pass. It looked less a city than a yellowish stain on the surrounding rock.
