Arrakis

60 mph winds scraped the land and ripped red dust into the sky. My teeth were covered, my eyes, shut to slivers, screamed from the grit. After ascending the rise, a blood sun sent his minions at me, but I was sheltered by the Totem.

I think that is how Paul Atreides felt during his exile to the desert.

Photoventure Blog: [link]

Copyright Colin H. Sillerud

This image cannot be used without my written permission.