A fly settles on my cheek,
stuck in the sweat
of a too-hot morning.

I wave it away. Another lands.
I don’t want to be distracted.

A rusty gate prevents my advance
but cannot block this view of grandeur:
the distant mountain range
hazy after the fire.
Standing rugged and majestic—
immobile on the horizon.

A raptor waits, patiently, precarious atop an acacia.
An agama bobs on a hot rock in the path.
The sun beats mercilessly.
Flies continue to harass my body.

Standing here, I am humbled. In awe.
Engaged in pure solitude—
for one short, hot, sweaty, dusty moment
between flies—

I breathe deeply,
and leave, empowered