In the scattered fields of the American Southwest, silence has a presence, a quiet with a life of its own. The ear hears only the pulse of nothingness.

The eye meanwhile is flooded by an intensity of color that overwhelmes any capacity to see and appreciate the dunes' texture and detail. All that exists is cobalt desert sky and against it, hues so saturated they scarely seem real: pink crumbled from Navajo sandstone along the Arizona-Utah border, white from New Mexico gypsum fileds, rich tans blown in from a dry lake near Death Valley, and oranges weathered from the classic red rock country of the Colorado Plateau.

In the presence of such vivid color, contours are only slowly revealed. And by then colors have begun to shift. The wind picks up. A symphony of low roars and the whisking of sand against sand overtake the silence. Stillness turns to tumolt. The only response is to wait. Be patient. Then pounce when the moment is again right.