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The desert is a lonely place,
a place where God seems absent.
The dust swirls blindingly
filling the nostrils and eyes,
choking the very life
till that life ends.
The body lies peacefully,
while the wind swirls the dust
in a warm blanket over the body
which grows increasingly cold.
The hand, a huge hand,
reaches down from above
and cups the child
in its’ gentle grasp.
The child feels no fear,
only a sense of being cared for, being loved.
The time of rest
lasts too short a time.
Then the hand tips gently
and the child slides off
to regain its’ footing on the earth.
In the moment, it carries the feeling,
its’ only regret is that it had to end,
and the struggle of living returns.