I race over the sand dunes to catch up with my friends.
It’s incredible. On one side; menacing orange waves give the impression of a stark desert, on the other browny green Australian bush fans out like a wilderness.
We slide down the dunes on the streamlined water board we bought in town, recalling how children laughed at the sight of beach toys going through an inland city self serve.
I crash off the board into the sand, like others before me, and join my pack of Tusken Raiders.
The sand sticks to our sunscreen like a bad spray tan and turns our hair orange.
Rough grain rips at our faces as we stand on the precipice, the flies descend and add to the storm surrounding us.
Each time we throw ourselves over the edge we get braver and braver; we surf down standing up and roll head over heels creating a blizzard.
The giant blue wind-couch catapults my brothers through the air, they land laughing and screaming with the rest of us.
It gets closer to dinner so we jump together one last time. We soar through the air enjoying the feeling of falling then land on the, now soft, aerated and damp earth.
We pull ourselves to our feet, exhausted, and carry ourselves up the hills. As we walk we try to brush the sand off our sticky bodies, in a halfhearted attempt to keep our cars clean.
At home we fill the bathroom with sand. It’s a bittersweet act, cleaning off the remains of our amazing day. We discover sand in our ears days later, a fitting reminder of a terrific day out.