Upheaval

Sea Rock, how long you’ve been here. Hunkered. Down. In sand and dirt. The years etched on your rutted skin. Time passing through you. And me.

You’ve borne the lashing of the sea,
the hammering of the rain,
the storming of the sand.
Stalwart beneath thunder, sun and star. Almost unmoving.

Almost.

Yet of all Gaia’s elements, it is you marking the eons. Earth’s upheavals are drawn upon you and within you. Cataclysms. Ice ages. Tectonic power.

When I touch you I am transported from today to yesterday, and from there to tomorrow. So it is in you Sea Rock, that I see it coming. The yawing of ages. As we cast off from the shores of the old, and sail out into waters new, I see myself turn back one last time. My future eye watches the banks of home crumble and fall beneath the waves, taking everything that couldn’t move with it.

I see you too Rock. Accepting your fate. As the tide pushes over your head for the very last time.

The past sinks below the surface. Yet how small and closed it looks. As a new sun gilds the crests and troughs alike, they roll and swell and carry us forth. We ride them like sea dragons, the power of the planet surging beneath us.

Things will never be the same. What was above is now below. And it feels like a blessing.