Jacob  dissolves into the  espace  between the curve of the sand, and the perspective-less mist of the  montagne . Space wipes itself clean of forked human forms every once in a while, leaving clean  montagne   air  and high starry nights for all the non-humans to enjoy, for a few moments. Noone hurt, just the mist and  blanc  noise of the  vent  go up for a moment, and people in  chapeaux  just can't be seen or heard. Up in the control  pièce , however, the weather-bees are still tracking  Jacob .     Le lendemain matin me trouva à White Sands, les Sables Blancs, une vaste étendue de gypse pulvérisé, l'ingrédient principal du plâtre.