Pistes

Under this radiant sun, in this lunar, desert landscape – so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes – men have died. Men have died. Only the rock remembers. The grain of sand seeking to escape its reality, its eyes, its senses. It remembers.

And it flees. It sings. And when you come, tourist, to hurtle down Crazy Dune, frolic on the red slopes of Big Mama, surf her rounded crest, do not forget the song of the grain of sand. Do not forget that silent cry of abandonment, of sadness and of oblivion. That song from the last century which still echoes today.