EROSION

The rocks are waiting, drying out; with no rain falling to keep them full, the pools between them are shrinking.  They are waiting for battle to commence, a struggle they cannot win.  They are pinned and I am coming to crush them.  This is a gradual process, but my patience is eternal and my energy boundless.  Some days I caress them gently, I’m playful and almost gentle; other times I am mean and merciless with my shaping strength.  When the Spring moon is full, I go crazy, coming all the way in, asserting myself up the river and making my presence felt inland.  I also go leaping up and tearing at the cliffs, creating more rocks to mould.  I am greedy, I can’t get enough.  There is no risk of me biting off more than I can chew, because no challenge is ever too much and whatever my mood, the effect is the same, the rocks become what I want them to be.

See all those grains of sand, stretching endlessly back, shining in the sun.  They are my end product, my masterpiece.  Once they were majestic rocks with shapes, structures, quirks and little pools between them that held life.  They know they are nothing to what they used to be, that they look all the same and I have done it to them.  However, now that I have withdrawn, receded, made myself absent, they long for me to come back and diminish them more.