Driven on with the inexorable strength of the mighty Levante, it has become a funereal cloak of crushed shell draped across the once verdant pines.
Now with an aeolian irony, the same forces reveal the dried and broken bones of these trees.
Arising from the barchan, this bleached trunk is illuminated by the dying rays of the setting sun.
Like some drunken tombstone in a forgotten graveyard it marks the final resting place of its sylvan family.
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Photo courtesy of the author.