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"I run my hand over the hot sand, the grains come off the surface and spiral upwards, twist into vortices, swirl between my fingers... It tickles. For a moment I squeeze and unclench my palm - they calm down... And again the towers of Babel grow and collapse. I sit in a large sandbox, from the edge to the edge of the horizon, playing with sand devils

• What are these stones?
  Against the backdrop of sand dunes, here and there, there were piled or stacked mountains of black stones.
• 'There was a time for scattering stones...' the shadow said in a well-pitched low voice, 'and a …