Lake Mead NRA

Sunday breakfast at the Lake Mead Marina, Lake Mead National Recreation Area 9 April 2017

One gull is enough ...

Dust storm

So I drove home a little early the other day. If they're going to have near-zero visibility on the freeway I'd prefer not to compound that with the regular rush-hour high jinks that keep my commute such a consistently thrilling adventure.

And because I was driving, I couldn't take photos. So I will try and paint you a picture.

There was sand drifting on the freeway in places, rippled where the wind was sculpting it into the embryonic beginnings of dunes. Squares of cardboard, palm leaves, drink cups: all sorts of light litter was airborne all around, caught high on chain-link fences or sailing overhead. Scraps of biodegrading plastic soared and twirled and generally haunted the road like unquiet spirits. Or sea creatures - I saw one piece of white, maybe five feet long and one wide, undulate across in front of me in disconcertingly eel-like fashion.

I could not see the hills, and little stones and bits of grit flicked against the windscreen. It seemed like more of them each moment. The air was greyish brown under a flat and murky sky. In higher and more exposed sections of the road, the wind caught the car and tugged it closer to the lane edges than I would like.

But I got home okay, obviously, and the next morning there was fresh snow on the mountains and the southwest hills were limned in light under lowering clouds.