Here are a few ways to find beauty in the dusty trips:
By the second hour, the charm had evaporated like the morning dew. The dust was no longer a plume; it was an atmosphere. It sifted through the seals of the windows, coating the dashboard, my arms, the back of my throat with a fine, gritty film. Each breath tasted of earth and antiquity. The radio gave up its ghost first—a hiss of static, then silence. Then the air conditioning choked, wheezing out warm, dust-flavored air. A Dusty Trip