A low mesa rises from the earth like a slow breath, its flanks washed in rose, amber, and muted violet. Sunlight lingers along the ridgeline, a last whisper of heat before night. Shadows pool in the folds of the land, softening grasses and shrubs into velvety silhouettes. The sky, a vast sheet of molten apricot, presses down with quiet intensity, holding a single pale star like a thought just forming. The emptiness is generous, inviting the viewer to step inside its silence, to feel the desert exhale, and to remember how large solitude can be.