Night Dreaming in the Wasteland

She looked out at the wasteland around her. Dead and dying, all was a dry, grey lifelessness of entropy. There was no rich darkness, no fertile black to rest in and hold the dream of rebirth. There was no effervescent and profuse light of life and joy to animate the land. Dispirited curls of dust spiralled in the desolate wind, clouding the perpetual half-light.