The California Coast

An observation on the dichotomy that exists between the shore-lined cliffs and violent seas.

Majestic they stand, the mighty granite cliffs of the California Coast. 

Resolute in their defiance against the every-encroaching malevolence of the violent seas.

A war eternal fought incessantly by foes throughout the dichotomy of their existence.

Never understanding the grandeur and beauty expressed by their struggle.

 

The Ocean strikes with a thunderous crash at the forward lines of the rock’s defenses.

The waves hammer the stone with roars of rage while the cliffs care little for their indignation.

The towering bluffs remain, protected by the never-ending continent of land at their backs.

They cackle with laughter at the seas as the winds howl through their caves and grottos.  

 

The waves retreat and gather their strength, charging again at the enemy before them.

They cry out to their kinfolk, the Storm, to reinforce their malicious intent.

Rain, wind, and waves assail the granite face, ripping at the stone’s gravel sinew.

The torturous attack gains the advantage as the cliffs groan and shutter to hold their own.

 

The jutting boulders, the pawns of war, cling to their refuge against the onslaught.

The vicious pounding tears at the brethren’s bond as their hold fractures and gives way.

The abuse more than they can bear, falling to their icy deaths below the waves.

The Ocean batters the rock with a tremendous gyre of splashing foam, announcing their victory like the trumpets of Rome.  

 

The dead lay beaten while the waves gather and dance with joy overhead.

But the seas no not the trouble they have wrought or the resolve of the dying.

Crushed by the pressure of the water’s persecution, the shattered boulders are torn to peddles.

They join the offensive as weapons of war against the foundations of their progenitors.

 

Slowly, the remains of the dead decompose into the molecules of sand from winch they came.

Gathering and collecting into an undulating slurry pushed every forward by the relentless sea.

The aggregate masses its forces and returns to the fight unnoticed by the Ocean’s fury.

A barrier that flows with the force of the seas, returning to the line with every wave’s retreat.

 

A volley of waves fall short of their mark, failing to reach the intended objective.

The dead of war become the sandy dry strand that stretches out before the granite cliffs.

The sun shines on the stone's quartz and crystal brightly smiling at the sea's defeat.

The Ocean subsides as the reality of their folly is understand and a calm takes hold.

 

The futility of the conflict is ignored as an armistice between the adversaries is reached.

A short-lived peace as each combatant rests and considers the next offensive.

Yet, as each battle is won and lost, both sides continue in perpetuity to no avail.

Except to provide a vision of serene allure to the spectators of the coastal confrontation.