Pedal for pedal, the bicycle combats carving a titanic fate into Siwa’s sand-laden streets. The tired sun charges my spokes. I must reach the dunes for sunset. It shall be a fair fondwell, after all. A farewell sent improperly infects the memory of the thing to which you are saying “so-long”. Human memory, already, is so misgiving. Let us not permiss it to err beyond redemption. I listen to the air whistle between the spokes and the wind chat all the more loudly with each step into velocity’s ferocity. The road bends but the course lies ahead. Offroad, a plaited line parallels a set of footprints. I ditch the bike behind a mound of dry shrub and steer my step into the steep slant of sand. Straddling the knife’s brittle edge, a bellied moan resounds from my chest. It’s a heart-wrenching soul cry. Sand serenades in return, throwing itself into a haze. Together, we sing. Together, we cry out!