The great silver skin filled with wind to take us over the dune waves; there was no greater desert comfort than to be cooled in its shade.
The sails were solar fabric, so they took the wind and the sun to make a truly clean ride over the waves. There were quicker ways to travel, especially with the hyperlink built. But there are times when you want to soak in every moment of living, to let things take some time.
The sails of our land were bright colours; we believed that they borrowed protective spirits of nature and kept watch over our beloved sailors.
The sails were a brilliant red and we would watch them unfurl and fill. It was as if the sails where a kind of blossom and together we became a part of that beautiful ocean scenery.
The sails were born of the loom, yet their destiny was to inhale the briny air. They were a soft cream that was bright in the sunshine and comforting on days of cloud cover. I used to imagine that in the night time my dreams would write themselves upon those fair canvasses and become a sort of movie for the stars above.
The sails took a deep breath and advanced us over the waves, onward toward a sun-brightened horizon. They were the finest cloth of my homeland, fixed to a tall mast. As the days passed I would watch the sails and see their careful weaving, feeling the love it takes to produce such a craft.
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