white sands desert picture

The barren wasteland lay in front of him, blindingly white, devoid of detail, an endless emptiness. Nearby birds sang silly songs and children played, laughing, crying, oblivious to the lost wanderer just a few moments away. Downstairs she hummed quietly to herself, love songs from younger more passionate times.

Suddenly before him a shape gradually appeared, at first a mirage he thought, but then no, it was full of detail: tangible, refreshing, taking the form of his lost muse.

The typewriter clattered into action.


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