Of course there would be a push to move on forward from the safety of the oasis. The oasis could only remain safe for so long, after all.
They had to keep on moving forward. There was no other choice, really. If they didn’t, then that which they were trying to escape would catch up, and the oasis would wither, as would their will to persevere.
It was a dangerous journey. From beyond the confines the sand was whipped into a frenzy as loose grains were picked up by relentless wind as it continu9ed its determined agenda of reducing the dunes to nothing; at least, in this location. Perhaps they would be moved elsewhere; it was too early to tell.
They sat and waited in their small, temporary paradise and waited for the time to step out. Of course it was good and all to say that they needed to keep on moving, but of course they also needed to be able to move safely. Time was on their side, but only if the winds receded sooner rather than later.
Of course they had to hope that their little pocket of safety didn’t end up too inundated by the winds and the grains that it carried. It wasn’t just a simple escape that they needed to complete, but also a persistence against the elements and a need to reach the other side of the desert in one piece.
Of course they knew not was on the other side. There had been rumours, of course, but there was no telling. Where they had left had managed to do well as for as far as they were aware, but of course the place before that and the place before that was the same. It seemed as though the desert was endless and, for the most part, quite formless.
Little pockets of towns, villages and occasionally cities would rise from the horizon. There too were plenty of areas with vegetation, as well as areas with great rock formations and landscapes, but more often than not, other than the luck of stumbling across the oasis, the desert seemed to stretch on far beyond itself, much like the horizon that it seemed so keen to meet. It just kept on going. Dunes here, dunes there, some small, some large, sometimes a flat, featureless area.
And of course, other than the rare rain, the desert could reveal its rage and aggression when it let the wind come into its being, creating an unstoppable frenzy that required more than a basic shelter.
And so they sat there and waited, hoping for their time to come. They had to keep on waiting and so they stared out, watching the landscape be blown away whilst replenished at the same time. All they could do is sit there. Every now and then, a word uttered, hoping to break the overbearing rage of the wind, but of course it was bound by the confines of waiting for the break they needed.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 08:39:36
I was thinking quite a lot about what I was writing.
I think I was trying to paint imagery in a sense.
Written at home.