Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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Desert in the mountain

He's so old, my grandpa, with his wrinkles, He smiles, a melancholy in space and a single Moment of trust. He nods, remembering his past, When the sea of ice against the valley was cast, And had been cast a million times, a billion, It was the time when water was our companion, Not our forgotten friend, not the vapored enemy. He sighs, sheds a tear, dons again his wise serenity, And begins his story, his adventure within this place, He tells of the chamois, the ancient nomads of space, Who wandered on the glacier, their eyes full of wonder For the sublime vision they were obliged to ponder over. But now, he says, there are no marvel, no pleasure In walking this place, for its only treasure, The sea of ice, has fled the valley, it was too warm, So now, what remains, the desert in the mountain, is a sandstorm.