Wandering alone around the desert at dawn hiss-whispering, “Are you fucking kidding me?” Standing among the small whitewashed adobe bungalows, the sun, still hidden, climbing behind the Morongo Canyons at the other side of the Sonoran Desert and starting to stain the sky ochre, rose, the juice of a ripe to bursting peach running over your fingers, brick and lilac, staring up at the tiers of colours as they stretched, deepened, spread into one another.