and I'm walking through the sands. softly, silently stuttering is the slow movement of waves lapping the end of the universe. here, as I walk through the sands. I stare at the sun. I think of dark shoals of fishes, flashing softly, striking gold and silver, laced with jewels, staring up at the sun; swivelling through waters and waves, simply searching for the next sea... as I walk through the sands.

and I'm walking through the sands. and beyond the peaks of steady rising, falling dunes, lies a small, squat town nestled amongst steep pyramids, each holding shimmering, sumptuous jewels. I stare at the sun. and agin, I think of dark shoals of fishes, flashing with the brilliance of old god's gems and glory, swimming swiftly between smooth waves.

and I'm walking through the sands. but conquered, ruled sands, which had subdued to the flashing blades and axes and striking swords, forged in sweltering fire. though the air remained sultry, swathed in heat and suffocating, it was defeated, finally. organised, sorted, crafted, set, each hut square and slim, the soil scratched and scathed from hoes and seeds sown. I stare at the sun. and again, once more, I think of dark shoals of fishes, flashing, flaring, flickering in a daze of striking silver, shimmering colour, as they freely rode the lapping waves of soft, still waters.

and I'm walking through the sands. weaving through the townsfolk, who speak in a foreign tongue, yet one that seems to ride the still moving sands of the savannah.