Dragging my feet along the dune’s crest I notice the shadow falling away in the sand. Stopped, I am a willowy figure, impossibly tall, in a cloudless, windless expanse of sand beyond my cinematic imagination. A lone — lonely — silhouette for whom the Mountains of Singing Sands do not offer a whisper. Isolation. Solitude.

Framing the picture is easy, but the figure… the figure lacks form. A couple of poses make no improvement, until I hold my left arm out and the camera strap falls from my shoulder.