I mentioned the dust yesterday, but it bears mentioning again. Waterholes aside, Etosha is an extraordinarily dry place this time of year. I have never before encountered such pervasive powdery dust. It quietly invades everywhere, in every pocket, in every crevice, on every surface. The apples in the bowl in front of me look like peaches now.
I posted a photo of the surreal wintery white of much of the landscape and the dust does account for some of that, but I should also mention the thorns - the ubiquitous acacia are armed with countless bone white thorns, to the exclusion of any leaves. They are as long as a child's fingers and as sharp and tough as surgical needles. One shredded the sleeve of my shirt without me even noticing until after.
The clever among you will note that day 40 marks the halfway point of this trip. Time has however lost its usual meaning for us and feels formless and vast, so we've taken no particular note of the day.
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