Three high dunes, brightly lit sand, a very tannish color, an oasis in the middle. Oasis is lush, spilling, but very tiny, the dessert is hot but a photograph would not suggest it.

There cube is 40 feet in the air, 12 by 12 by 12 feet, made of a washed metallic and silver steel. It seems to be suspended in the air and rotating every so slightly, though by no apparent means.

There is a slightly worn but very reliable looking ladder, a faded red frame with bright aluminum rungs, laying on it's side in the oasis. It looks as if someone tried to climb to the suspended cube but realized partway through he or she needed something else and is right now grabbing it.

The horse is brown, dark brown, the colors of chestnuts. The horse's saddle is minimal and functional, with a lighter brown rug underneath it. The rein's of the horse are tied to a post, but it looks casually tied, almost tossed on, as if the rider knew that horse would not move until he returned. The horse is grazing relaxedly. The rider and horse must have been here for some time because the horse seems rested, relaxing in the shade of a palm tree. The horse is beautiful and lithe and spry and young.

A dark, purplish sky is in view between two of the three dunes. It seems that the whole dessert knows the storm is coming, and the storm has come, not as a natural part of the water cycle, nor a malevolent deity. The storm has come as if to thunder and bellow and drench only this very specific spot, this oasis. The storm, despite its magnitude, is comforting. It will be wet. Yet it will be ok.

A pink flower, with petals like the ones that all children learn first how to draw.