My first impression of the cave was sand. It spread heavily, almost touching the low ceiling. The sand was amply mixed with tiny white-blue pebbles and it dotted infinitely wherever your gaze met. The spread appeared as though stuck in time, perhaps put to halt at one of its striking moments. The spread now stood afloat, or arched or dead stagnant across every nook and corner of the caves. It was a graveyard.
Resting
my back on the ever adjusting sand I remember staring above. The cave
ceiling was spread and spotted with jutting pebbles face down. The clear
remains of a wash over flood. The daylight spread from a small crevice
across the wall above me, lighting the presence of a thousand caves. I
could feel warmth and solace. I fell asleep dreaming about my mother
working in her kitchen garden.
When I woke up I
felt crunched. The ceiling was now just a foot away from my face. The
sand was cold to the bones and very unwelcome.
The flood was silent and now the place was very different and
suffocating. I tried stretching my hand to dig out the wall. It was hard
and heavy with all the weight of earth. I was desperately searching for
the small crevice across the wall when I woke up from my dream.
