The man is kneeling on the sand, head bowed down before me, his hands holding my robe like a repentant Christian. The man and I are statues with frozen gestures. There is no urge to speak. I only want to stand above him. The man kneels repentant, for his own sake or mine it doesn't matter.
Thoughts are too still here.
Even where the ocean pounds the shores, with the wind-blasted sands, and the dune grasses crackling like fire. Alive all around us with her chaos of forces, my planet she listens, she sees. The sea falls away, the winds leave the sand, and the grasses become silent. Now I can breathe stillness. Our hearts have stopped beating.