Well, look: this used to be all rock, and now it’s sand, and then, one day, it’s going to be dust, and then the whole island will be dust, and then . . . well I don’t even know what comes after dust. —Where the Wild Things Are
I am not sure what comes after dust. I know we walked along the beating desert sand for miles, but I do not know how it ends. We never know how it ends, that is the beauty
in watching the eroding, the gradual degradation of the rock—the once solid thing. A sign that we all age and grow weary, we all eventually return to the dirt
from which we came. I know that first there is rock, then sand that eventually becomes dust. I know the rocks cry out, release a bellow that can be heard even after the dust has settled.