I found a bunch of dust on top of my bookshelf, underneath a picture frame. There was dust also on top and on the face of the picture frame, and also on all of the books. There was dust underneath my pillow when I was lying down to sleep. When I woke up there was dust underneath my fingernails and when I ran into the woods to the creek to clean them off there was dust on the fallen down tree and dust where a dog used to be, sitting on the branches. There's no such thing as outer space and no such thing as rooftops, or music. I kept sweeping away the dust in every crack and corner that I found it in, which was most. It floats around and hides in the most peculiar of places. I think it used to be sand last summer, and before that it may have even been a forest.