I love language.  Language makes it possible to express moments, feelings, desires and fears. I love it so much I paid, or rather I will pay, 5 figures to study it. Words, sentences, grammar, all of it. It is the best. It is my craft and I have devoted my life to mastering it. The journey to mastery is long and riddled with tyre punctures and dented fenders, but I am on my way.

There are many things I can write about, and write about well. As those of you familiar with my work will already know. But still, there are subjects that I dare not write about. For to butcher an experience with the wrong words is to ruin that experience forever. An Ayahuasca-induced astral projection is one such experience. Dancing to Italo-disco in a smokey basement is another. My words would only serve to destroy these things.

This is why I refuse to write about the natural beauty in Namibia. At this point in my life, I cannot fathom the right language to describe it. Instead, I will use photos to communicate the truth.

Tracks left by a vehicle slice the sand in half. Cloudless sky. Is that a bush? Or an ostrich?
The rising sun veiled by fog. Dispersing clouds cloak the sandspit in gloom.
Solitaire: A person or animal living alone outside the herd. Rust on sand. Sand.
Circular tyre tracks in the sand, a plain grey sky. Between them, perfection does lie.
Rocks are the grandparents of sand. Shrubs find a way to take hold. Feathering clouds do karate at night.
Clouds and light compete to control the atmosphere. Shrubs fight a losing battle against the sand.
The clouds are gone. The sand is faithful. Some rubbish?

So now you have begun to understand, how these things came to be. Namibia is much more than just sand, sky and sea.

Dutifully yours,

H F Peniston