Brown puddles on the Earth. Sand stained and eroded. Head in the blow. Flows of it, whisping across the ripples with grains in a blast. Grating against the surface of the planet. Hurtling at the next solid immovable.

They duck in from their perch. Below the whips and lashes. One tiny step by step into the unforgiving wall of wind. The Earth aches and bellows. Pushing forward with its groans against the growth that has sprung upon it.

And irrelevant it seems, without the required cleanse. We wait for the next respite from exposed structures and the heart of the beast. Enjoying its angry disposition.