I had heard about her ever since I was a child – her miracles. My grandmother told tales of her last visit, when she emerged over the desert horizon, walking in between the mountains to the north and the south and yet somehow stepping on top of the shadows cast. She raised a sandstorm that sung at her command, that grew from a mere whisper into proud chant, commanding all who heard to be waiting and bear their offerings. My grandmother remembers feeling her presence, how she cast orders into the flesh of every man and woman, and how bending to her will only felt like friendly suggestion rather than binding spell. It’s said that everyone simultaneously wandered outside, somehow subconsciously aware of why, each ushering their young with them. There they stood underneath the insufferable heat of the midday sun, obediently waiting.
