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.