Nida: The Dunes

From the lightning-struck sundial I could see all the way to Russia, wide, dark and featureless beyond the high wooden watchtowers. The Baltic sparkled like crystal on a windowsill and the many-coloured houses of Nida made the lagoon seem like a tributary of the Rhine.

The sky turned red, branches poked like half-drowned arms from white-sand hills. My head played out scenes from a Kobo Abe novel.