He stands alone upon the desert road at the cusp of the dying town behind. Before is that great expanse of sand which is before us all. Yet this moment is not his step into that future; he stands. He looks forward, knowing the town’s wells are dried. Some water he prays he’ll find out there, and squinting against the low sun, gazes out into that unknown.
But there is a road; there is no water here; and what is out there?
The wind is a gentle hand upon his cheek, and he leans into her touch. A moment he dreams, shutting his eyes to the world.
Tale Told 