NURSLINGS OF THE SKY 



and cold between the ranges. Far south 

 rises a murk of sand against the sky; it 

 grows, the wind shakes itself, and has a 

 smell of earth. The cloud of small dust 

 takes on the color of gold and shuts out 

 the neighborhood, the push of the wind is 

 unsparing. Only man of all folk is fool- 

 ish enough to stir abroad in it. But being 

 in a house is really much worse ; no relief 

 from the dust, and a great fear of the 

 creaking timbers. There is no looking 

 ahead in such a wind, and the bite of the 

 small sharp sand on exposed skin is keener 

 than any insect sting. One might sleep, 

 for the lapping of the wind wears one to 

 the point of exhaustion very soon, but 

 there is dread, in open sand stretches some- 

 times justified, of being over blown by the 

 drift. It is hot, dry, fretful work, but by 

 going along the ground with the wind 

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