Nothing grows except the grass. Nothing leaps into sight except some stone and what the stone contains and protects. Here, far from the beach, far from the place where the water returns every so often rusted metal, mouldy wood, the corpse of a dolphin or a turtle. The wind does not blow with the force to propel us as far as the promised then. The minutes that pass become hours but never days, they become nights that never agree to be years, and centuries in which somebody dies and someone else, who does not know it, yawns.