Delkral

A quiet winter night in the middle of the bush in Namibia. Surrounded by strong, protective, insulating stone, I sit in my bed staring at the ceiling with the covers on. A mosquito flies across my vision only to be returned to its maker by the swat of my sandal. It is dead silent, aside from the occasional grunt by an african hippo sleeping lazily at the lake nearby and the crashing of a wave softly upon the ridge. I stare at the designs in the rock above me, seeing obscure faces hazily in the stone. Within what seemed to be a few seconds, I’m in the middle of the desert. The sun shines high in the sky to my right. Ahead of me lies a dir