AFTERGLOW 



One finds valleys in the desert quite like ordinary ones in 

 shape, but instead of water there is only sand in sweeping 

 curves and hollows, like the snow-wreaths and drifts in a 

 highland glen. 



Rocks stand out of this, but their projecting faces are 

 polished smooth and glittering or deeply cut by the flinty 

 particles scraping over them continually in storms and 

 hurricanes. 



The traveller on camel-back, where his waist has to act as 

 a sort of universal joint giving to every unexpected jolt and 

 wrench of his rough-paced mount, suffers from the heat, for 

 nowhere else in the world are there such high temperatures. 

 He suffers from thirst, and still more from the dust which 

 fills eyes, mouth, nostrils, and ears. 



Yet the dry pure air is most exhilarating. 



In the evening there is a feast for the eyes in the glorious 

 afterglow when the sun has just set. The light from below 

 the horizon produces an ever-changing, indescribable play of 

 colour from violet to salmon pink and through the most 

 delicate shades of yellow, blue, and rose, until everything 

 fades and there reigns only the mysterious silence of the 

 beautiful starlit night. 



No wonder the air is dry and pure, for rain only falls on 

 perhaps eight days in the year in some places (Ghardiaia). 



Yet plants manage to exist even where there is only about 

 seven inches of rain annually. 



But this seems still more extraordinary if one remembers 

 that sand may be almost glowing hot during the day, whilst 

 in winter it may be, at night, cooled below the freezing-point. 



Yet a desert absolutely bare of plants is an exceedingly 

 rare phenomenon. Such do occur. Darwin speaks of " an un- 

 dulating country, a complete and utter desert.'' This is not 



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