“The sand speaks in tongues,” said the Barn Owl. I sat there wondering and staring and questioning and believing these words. It hooted plaintively. I was oblivious to the logic of words, so instead of succumbing to analysis I picked up handful of cracking sand. Grains escaped. “What does the sand say?” I asked myself with dry, peeling lips. Bristling silence. His gaze inverted, as did mine, but he had the added luxury of having an omnidirectional neck. A stranger was shuffling lazily through the brush, but the sand announced his intention.
[download] “Voice of the Other“