Sand Man´s way.

The child held closely in the arms of the elderly man, like an ancient statue holding its spring offering. The flowers around them withering like those of an old tomb without visitors for some time.

The old man looks into the eyes of the child and keeps the gaze profound in its soul. His spirit leaving his flesh like the wind howling as it passes through a cave. An omen to the young life he keeps to his bosom. One last embrace and he sets the little one down and walks calmly to the edge of the river before them. His clothing, old and tattered, falls swiftly to the ground and his foot enters the cold water bravely and decidedly. The rest of his body follows until he is completely submerged.

Time passes and the withering flowers and fields of green turn from brown to dust.

The river dries and the all is but the howling of wind, like the old man's gaze........the child!

The child is sleeping under the sands, and time has not touched him. He is the virgin in a field of well whored death.

Time passes and all grows dark.

In an instant the tombs are opened by the trembling of the earth, the stomping of the generations of man. The child stirs and awakens in his dark olden grave. His body now grown but young, his muscles now strong but gentile. He pushes the sands time has deposited on him and opens his eyes for the first time to the brilliant sun blazing over head.

He walks the length of the desert, his birthplace. His lavish paradise of times now forgotten. His eyes see a world that was, only. His memory fails him not, His first sight, that of the old man is still within him. He wanders until the sands turn to stone, then dirt, and finally green fields. He sees his first companion....a woman...a descendant of the generations of man he was to know long ago.

Their eyes meet and their flesh shortly follows. Her belly is filled and soon a new life is formed. As it grows in a new world, the man child sees his new world with ever closing eyes. He makes his home by a river. His child, now a beautiful woman keeps him in his care. His bride that greeted him after his wandering in the desert, is now buried by the river he was drawn to. It is the circle of life to him. So alien to his desert eyes. Another world, a paradise.

soon his daughter is with child and his wrinkles are too pronounced to hide. His flesh once joined in youth with his bride´s is now turning to the sands from whence it came. He takes his grandson in his arms and remembers the eyes of the old man who left him so long ago in the desert, his home. He holds the child close to him, as was done to him, looks into his eyes and sets him down by the river.

He is home in the river. The end of his journey has begun. Time passes, and its sands flow from all winds to all flowing rivers. The circle is complete.