cloudy days in the desert

Mike looked out on the world, well the part he could see. He wished he could not see that part, he wanted to be in a different world, one far away from this one. When you see something for long enough you start to forget that there are other vistas, people see other worlds, not everyone is looking at what you are. Even those who do share you vista may not share your view. Everyone’s life is different, two people can live the same life but have different lives. Mike gaze moved across the horizon, everything was shrouded in a haze, it looked too dark and thick to be just heat haze, he also thought about where the haze was the darkest and released that the gloomy shroud was smog. This did nothing to lift his spirits, dragging his current misery of his own life to an even lower depth. He was now thinking about how the world was struggling. Underneath the noxious smog was one of the main highways jammed with big cars whose engines puffed out fumes as they inched their way along the choked road. Things were just getting grimmer and grimmer by the minute. Trying to shake all this off he looked over to the plants that he grew on his balcony, the bougainvillea was in flower, crimson and white fluttered together, he thought about how they needed be fed, the sand they grew in needed to be enriched with something to keep them growing. Sand is not a fertile element, it does not nourish life, rather it allows life giving water to escape quickly, too quickly, it was as if sand liked being dry and uninviting, happy to make things hard for anything that tried to live in it. You could tame the sand, make it a place where things could live but only if you were relentless in your pursuit of life. As soon as you stopped it just went back to how it was, dry and unforgiving. Like a selfish soul who did not want to share anything with anyone, it just wanted to be left alone, to do whatever it is that it does. Mike knew people like that.
Through the trellis and fluttering plants Mike saw the profile of his neighbour, who was also outside taking in the view. Mike started to think about his neighbour, about his life, what he felt, was he happy, did he start every day with a light heart or was he struggling to sustain his life in the sand.

Sand is always moving, blowing from one place to another, never in the same place for any length of time, a light breeze was enough to get the sand in motion, either just rolling along the top of the dunes as if powered by some internal force or in huge shamaals the blew into town like a dark wall, stinging skin as it blew past, hot grains of sand brushing past you, scraping your skin like sandpaper, onwards, ever onwards.
No shamaals today Mike thought, just smog, haze and relentless blasting sun. The neighbour carried on his gaze, Mike carried on his, they both stood here not acknowledging each other, both happy to leave it that way, the trellis provided some cover for the two neighbours, the few plants provided enough of a barrier that greetings did not seem called for or any lack of greeting did not seem rude, and so the gazing continued.