And all of the world was of sand.  Fine particles of sand.  Peppered from on high, everything lay spread and dusted with a fine coating of sand; a desert carpet.  Stupid, he thought, that every grain should have a name, and a number; very tedious, wasteful.  And you can't be small enough, and have enough substance to support intelligence enough to engrave a manifesto on the side of a grain of sand, but he was that someone probably did anyway.  Or maybe sand does not operate that way; he wasn't sure.  A dusting, a coating, and then layers, and layers, and then wind, and sand spiraling about.  And the wind spoke as true as the sands fine spray numbered uncountable.  And everywhere everything became wind, and everything became sand, and wind and sand.  And he in the middle of the wind, and the swirling sand.  His nostrils clogged with sand,his throat was dry.  His pores, every pore crying from sand, and  starving for air.  His eyes burned of the fine powder, and the alkaline mixed with iron; a whole smorgasbord of the elemental table.  He was suffocating.

A hot wind brushed over his naked body; he saw himself in perfection - no, a hot wind brushed his cheek, and it was smooth, and warmed, and perfection, and he watched the sand and the wind and the heat in whirlpools now, and in whirlpools, and sound, and a girl.  The hot wind, and fragrances now, sweet, and if sand it was like glittering dusts, and if wind blowing hot, and the girl standing, and the girl - do I know you, I know you now, yes.  Stood before him looking straight through the back of his skull.  She stood naked in body and soul clean and bare,  And the wind was her hair, and wonderful fragence envoloped his being.  Naked she bore straps made of leather, and carrying strange devices.  Naked only to him now, and an odd array of wires and apparatus streamed from her devices, and now from her every orifice.  She spoke of things he had never heard of, and he understood, and her naked breath filled his lungs, and he breathed deeply.  And the fine dust lay settling, lay gently now, the sand and the glittering dust lay coating the girl, she is sleeping now. And a garden.

And an old man stands on a hill, and wind, and dust, and terrible pain and remorse are devouring him.  And Tanis can hear him, and Tanis can see in his head, see through his eyes; his planet is dying.  Great sadness now, and the wind and the man are as one; both are swept away, both have taken wind, taken flight, and there is hope.  There is hope for many people, many terrified great masses of souls; one great body, one great soul. And a garden.
And a garden grew, and deep rich soils, sweet earth - no sand.  And there was no sand; just oceans, and great rocks, and sweet earth, and a garden of growing things, and the oceans made the sands, and ground the rock, things in the garden grew.  Patches of life.  Rebirth.  Terrible joy.

A pool, and water, and fine fine wisping eddies, whispering eddies, and girl is calling him, no the girl is gone.  Pulling, calling, and the wind is of voices, and the voice are the pulling, caressing, pulling.  Mahmud is kneeling, and praying over the body of a bloody Christ, and wine, they are sharing wine now, and Christ and Mahmud, and he himself are sharing wine, and there is sand in the wine, and they are laughing at the sand, they are laughing at the wine.  And God is standing in the wind, and fragrance, and God is laughing at him.

Rats are eating his lunch, and doesn't mind, and he knows he doesn't mind, and there not rats, no, a squirrel.  He's playing chess with a squirrel, and he knows the squirrel, and this somehow makes complete sense to him.  And now the squirrel is complaining, and he hates the heat, and the sand.  And Tanis hate the heat.  Tanis hates the sand; the squirrel says thank you.  A ship.  A ship the size of a world, a ship the size of a sun, and the pit.  The pit called to him; gasping for air - he is awake.

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