And the rising sun drove away my dark dreams. As the day strengthened itself, the desert grew warm. The stars went away. Noon came, and my flesh burned. Trudging through the shifting sands, I cried out for water. How I had dreamed of water in the night, but how terrible were the monsters of the deep. Oh why is there not some medium, some happy middle between these terrors of hot and cold, of drowning and dehydration, between the desert and the abyss? Why can life not be a dream, nor the dream be touched?
Where are you, O Lord?
Tale Told 