When the Earth Died
$17.50By Peter Routis
Unruffled and gently the wind blew over the land. Above it, a few clouds travelled across the withered sky, and below, on top of the earth, the stones were steaming, scorching from the sweltering day which hadn’t put an end to it yet. Earth and sky in deep silence, fashioned by centuries, even more, muter than silence, declarations of the late day: amiable stillness. God would be covering his eyes soon, the sun and the moon, and would be falling asleep. It was probably the twilight colours that danced on top of the mountain. Through the depth of the smog, you could see, or sense something, which was indistinguishable. Slowly, the eyes exploited the haze and got used to the miasma of the late day; you could now discriminately get a glimpse from up above. On top of the blazing soil, in some places thrown on top of each other, in other places solitary, the scorched houses, brewed of bricks, mortar, and wood.