Winds blew in from the desert and the solitude increased.

The silent remnants of an ancient garden slept beneath the

sun, hiding the sweet well that through ten thousand years

had brought life to so many.  Its waters trickled away

through subterranean channels until they entered the malignant swamp which

extended itself year after year over the no longer fertile

ground.  How great the desolation was, how crushed and puny

the grandeur that had existed here.  Even the birds came

no more, for the grasses that had grown centuries before

now perished in the desiccated air; garden had become desert.


Paraphrases from the novel The Source by James Michener.