SAND AND TIME: Signs
A tiny mote,
pauses ... poses
a miniscule acrobat
on thermals; hangs
for an instant, suspended
by invisible threads.|
The old man stares
fixated ... watches
the grain of sand
captured in the twilight
interplay of twin suns.
A tiny planet spinning
in its own microcosm,
marking the passage
of time, tick by tick.
His gaze shifts to the sultry horizon,
and beyond to the unseen, unseeable
the empty reaches, where lonely atoms spin
like grains of sand, bobbing on gravitic tides,
watching as the galaxy wheels,
watching with limitless patience,
watching, like him, and waiting
for the moment when the tide turns
and they can ride the crests back in.
He squints, adjusts focus, traces
the undulations of dunes striped
with alternating lines of sunlight
and shadow light and dark
in eternal opposition; his history,
his destiny lie in the pattern
etched across those end-
less sands. And the desert
holds few surprises for him,
the hermit wizard
of the Jundland Wastes.
He blinks twice ... each movement
is quantified and measured; each
is a careful step in the process of survival,
calculated to balance necessity and output.
The desiccated air craves moisture, leaches
it from human and animal and plant alike.
To waste energy
or expend too little
is death; it is that simple
and that difficult ...
... for all but the sand:
sand forever sifting, cycling
from tiny singularity, to flurry,
to seething maelstrom; sand
blasting trails of wanton destruction,
cutting to the heart of the desert
and gouging out its memories.
The old man huddles under his cloak
as the tiny grain of sand rises, falls,
quivers in expectation a warning signal
to which he responds with a nod, smiles.
This is his world and he knows
the rhythms of this place, knows
the pattern, knows that all storms
begin with a single grain of sand.
He huddles and waits
for the storm to begin.
Paintings of He Tricked Me! and Solari Sunset by Wraith6.
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