Songs of the Desert (Lost, Part 1)

I don’t know who I am or how I got here. I don’t even really know where I am. All around me is just endless sand. Mountains of sand. The color reaches from yellow to orange to red and then back.

As I reach up to touch my face, I feel that my skin is hot. Is it a fever? Or just the effects of the sun burning down on me? For the moment, I’ll assume it’s the sun. A fever would be really bad right now. I need to figure out what’s going on.

And how to get out of this giant desert.

Scattered around me are an empty backpack, a bottle of water, some packaged dried fruits and a hat. It kind of looks like I fell down and lost the contents of the backpack, together with the hat. Had I been on a hike? But why am I alone? Why would I walk through a desert all by myself?

I collect the water and fruits and put them in the backpack. Then I put the hat on. It’s slightly too big. Maybe it’s not my hat after all? I mean, why would I enter a desert with an ill-fitting hat?

I glance up at the sun. If I had a wristwatch, I would be able to determine where the cardinal directions are. But without one, I’m really lost. Despite this, I need to move. I need to find some kind of shelter. And water! My small bottle won’t last forever.

I randomly choose a direction and start walking. The sand crunches under my shoes. At least I’ve been sensible enough to wear proper clothing. Closed shoes and one of these dress-like robes one can often see in desert cultures. But I can’t place the specific style of mine.

It’s fascinating, there is so much random knowledge buzzing in my mind that keeps coming to the surface, but I still don’t know what’s going one. If this is a form of amnesia, it’s a very annoying one.

Hey, brain, could you please give me something? Anything? My name? The color of my eyes? I have no idea what I look like.

Suddenly, a deep hum starts filling the air with an increasing volume. What on earth is that? It sounds like a giant, angry swarm of bees or hornets or something.

Alarmed, I look around, but am unable to spot angry insects of any kind. No dark clouds. Just sand, so much sand.

The humming slowly dies down again, until the desert is silent once more. Did I just imagine this? I must be going mad; the heat is not good for my brain. If I can’t find some kind of shelter soon I might die of a heat stroke or something.

With new determination to find a safe place soon, I keep walking through the sand.

Walking on sand is tedious, I’m a lot slower than I want to be. But before I’m not certain that I can stop walking in the near future, I need to preserve my strength. No running, no unnecessary movements. Just one foot in front of the other and …

There is the humming again. I think it is closer this time? And the pitch seems slightly different. What is this?

As I look around, I can see sand sliding down one of the dunes. The more sand starts moving, the louder the humming gets. Fascinated, I observe how the sand avalanche comes to an end, which also puts an end to the creepy sound.

The dune must have created it! What a weird phenomenon.

A memory rises from the depths of my clouded mind. Something about grains of sand rubbing against each other and creating the hum, their size determining the pitch.

Wow, thanks. If I ever meet anyone in this desert, I’ll just tell them about singing sands when they ask for my name.

With a sigh, I keep walking. The singing desert keeps me company.

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Sources:

How to use an analog watch as a compass

Singing Sand Dunes Explained

Sound of the Singing Dunes

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