Seaside
The calmness of the night is fading as the tides begin to rise. Waves crash into the cliffside, slowly eroding the earth back into itself. Each one slightly bigger and more damaging than the previous. The moon piquing in the sky, casting pull much greater than its light. White caps the only visual of life in the blackness of the ocean.
The roar, however… The roar can be heard for miles. Each wave larger and more vicious than the last, barreling into the coast, clearing away layers, revealing fresh soil. The thud of the salt water slamming into the crusted earth resembles the bellows of Zeus. Just as the echoes fade, the next wave is upon us.
Much is swept away in the current, now reaching higher and higher. Tis the way of the shoreline; ne’er a moment of peace. The flow of the tide brings it’s own peace — a rhythm to its chaos. Attacking the cliffside with force beyond recognition, the waves sweep away great chunks of soil, exposing the frail root systems of swaying seaside shrubbery. Roots desperate for something from which to grow.
The tide knows no mercy. Its actions dictated by the moon, constantly tearing away at the cliff face, dragging pieces of it downward, disintegrating immediately into the water. Waves growing exponentially, shrinking the shoreline by the second, carrying life away to its new environment. Feeding new life into an existing infrastructure.
Life on the shore is of no concern to the tide, rising and falling at its leisure. Existence outside of the ocean is inconsequential. The waves are what matter — everything else a footnote.
Swells rolling and crashing, building momentum as the shoreline approaches. The cliff likely can handle no more, but the tide is not concerned. The waves know no mercy.
