In this world, the light is so soft that all the colors have pastel tones. They are gentle and airy, almost transparent, easy to mix and weave together, creating new shades. And also the light here... sounds.
Having stopped on a sand dune, I look at the wasteland in front of me and listen to it. Yes, there are already soft sounds like the chords of an unknown instrument. Something between wind music and whistling, similar to the voice of a singing bowl...
I sink into the hot sand to listen, and I close my eyes. The melody awakens and unfolds, revealing itself right in front of me with hundreds of sounds and sounds. And they all paint amazing pictures on my eyelids.
In fact, there is nothing else in this world. There is sand around as far as the eye can see. Not a single blink, grass, flower. There are no trees, no water, even the dried-up streambed is not found here. But local dunes can sing.
The wind is lazy here, it barely touches the face, bringing the only spirit with it. The song does not flow thanks to him but despite him. In fact, the earth itself sings. And if to clinch a handful of swift grains of sand in a fist and to let out slowly, new sounds will be intertwined in a melody. So you can become a part of an amazing orchestra, without making any mistakes in any note.
A wonderful world full of life and completely devoid of it at the same time.
And there are other realities, dark and gloomy, in which many monsters, but ... They do not seem alive.
Maybe life is light?
Is our own Sun, which burns both inside and out, dead? Is it possible to say that it lives?
Or is it something else, an existence, to which the word "life" cannot be applied in any way?
Strange questions are born on this sand dune. They don't make sense, they don't have an answer. Sometimes it seems that there isn't a single drop of life left in the people you talk to. However, they will surely say that they are alive. Amazing is the matter - life.
I close my eyes again, and the wind blows the rest of my thoughts out of my head. Not otherwise, I picked them up somewhere in the other universe, in some other universe that smelled like sadness. There are such people too, there are many of them.
...When the wind hits me on the shoulder, I am surprised to turn my head. Still alone on the sand dune, I understand that someone or something is still there. It's already evening, the world of pastel colors, heat and singing sand is getting ready for bedtime. The sky here doesn't know the moon and stars, the heat barely falls asleep until the light gets warm in the morning.
Maybe life here is a fever?
You hear a laugh. The invisible thing is that he hasn't stopped nearby, he's not in a hurry to show himself. In general, he may be in a completely different world, may see these places in his sleep, almost touch and at the same time never wander here.
I open the door and cross the threshold. Let it remain there - the unknown, anonymous, invisible.
But the present does not weaken. It is true that in the world where I stepped so carelessly, it is only noon. Everything is bright, everything is shining. And I notice a short shadow. There you are, invisible.
After a moment the midday light draws a stranger, draws his figure, face, eyes. And now I know who is in front of me. We never asked each other's names, but we met countless times.
We look at each other without words. As always. We stretch out our hands but avoid touching each other. Our communication is usually that. Travelers don't talk often, just a glance is enough to understand, find answers and deny any doubts.
However, today my acquaintance impatiently twitches his head and withdraws. He doesn't like the fact that the mystery has cleared up, so one step and he disappears again.
But I'm moving on too, not trying to think. An incalculable number of worlds pass by me, and soon I'm standing on the porch, holding the keys in my hands. Here again in January, in the evening, stars are swimming in deep blue, lanterns are shrouded in subtle foggy haze, snowdrifts are sleeping. Not warm, but not too cold.
It's very late, on the edge between one day and another, I look out the window, wondering a little bit that there are so many stars here.
Why isn't there a single one in that world?
Maybe it's just a small sphere like the ones that sometimes swim past me while I make tea?
Maybe it's even smaller, so the whole life there is scattered, hasn't managed to gather in some... creature?
The gentle light of a candle locked in a tin lantern reminds me of how the sun went down in the sands. The flares lay on the waves of the dunes, and it seemed that everything was about to move, to roll smoothly, to play... Except the music was falling asleep at that moment.
My candle almost burned out, its light dimmed, and my tea completely cooled down. Once again, I got partially tied up between the worlds while I was sitting by the window looking at such an ordinary, familiar blue night, marked by snow.
With a smile, I pull up the curtains.
In the world of singing sands, the morning will soon come. I'm going to go there, I haven't heard their concert yet. And I didn't play with them.