you see - arabic arcades, those which are really here... it smells of an anise or cinnamon in such a stillness, in such a perspective. and brightness is pulsating now.
the arcades come near... and you are going into the mistical centre. you are still, but the breath of wind is embracing you. this is not the wind.
you see - this fountain. the water, which gushes from the middle, is a blue or violet... here, the mother of fiery sand.
