The Great Basin is an area of the world that I have come to know by walking through many parts of it on foot. Often I thought about the people who first arrived here—thousands of years ago— and imagined myself following in their footsteps.

In this work I set out afresh to portray in music certain iconic aspects of the region: the broad shape of the land as it stretches into rugged mountains on either side, the magical repose of a towering dust devil far out on the playa, the wonder of the night sky away from the lights of the towns, cloud shadows shifting on hillsides, a Nevada Rainstorm (“six drops per square mile”).

Low strings travel slowly though the tonic notes of the circle of fifths, evoking a long view of time. A ‘footsteps motif’ is then presented by the piano. These simple materials appear in new guises as the piece progresses. The Fibonacci numerical series 1 1 2 3 5 is sometimes manifest, metrically or rhythmically, while episodes of voice bundling in the high strings suggest flocks of birds in flight, or a gust of wind.

With a narrative arc focused at first on human exploration (and appreciation) of the natural world, the music then embarks upon an inexorable build-up, like a storm to a lightning strike, sparking a wildfire. Suddenly, we find ourselves on the verge of a precipice, at the bottom of which a fearsome firenado roars to life and grows, consuming itself into oblivion.

Only in hindsight do we begin to understand what has taken place. An extended coda in melancholy brass gives way to a brief elegiac concertante for the principal strings and a return to the long view of time. An enigmatic phrase from flute, piano, harp and percussion concludes the work.