Without voice.

Much survives in a way,

Buried in layers of hungry sand.

To think, to reflect.

Of all the things in all the world, it is thought which is bewitched.

Afloat.

A boat forever in port, a captain that never had sailed. It was a weaver of tales and stories, forgetful in his old age.

Ancient watcher.

If only all could hear the words of silent ancient earth.

Before the storms.

It’s just another day before a storm.

The sun is felt even from behind the clouds, and the heat hangs in the air.