I imbue the scene before me with an emotion resembling complacency.
I project the appropriate bits of my consciousness, determining that the grey-blue in the sky denotes the sort of tolerable despondency society has allowed me to become familiar with. I see my restrained acquiescence in the latent, but hostile waves; they have become lips, perpetually devouring themselves. Holes in the low clouds have formed amorphous, asymmetrical eyes. The world has become a vaguely distorted reflective plane, like moving puddles in city gutters at four in the morning. My shape is there, and I squint to make out the details. I squint now, and find the living subject of myself in the scene ahead of me.
The sand erodes in the way of my person, substance slowly wearing and dissolving further into the depths of wholeness. As cliffs retreat, so do the inconsistencies in my character. The ocean is my mind, and the beach is its most external features. I soak my crude periphery in acid, and retrieve what is left behind, assimilating the roughness into the unending depths of my sea. Instead of my behavior, slowly, my brain becomes toxic. In its nerves dart the wrongs that I once unassumingly displayed in my mannerisms and speech. I am poison. But at least, now, I can handle myself at dinner parties.
I watch for an hour more, absorbing the setting sun as it evolves from a strong, small force to a brilliant, pervasive influence. It is endowed with a gracious life. This, I think, is why I have never become acclimated to the idea of landscapes. A photograph cannot contain the sentience with which I furnish my world. The disturbances that upset my vision become the beauty of the final image. Conveying this world in one stoic moment is wickedly dishonest; to take a second in time and label it truth is to publically display a single frame of a film and tag it as an exact representation.
The evolution of a place is a hard concept to grasp. The public is eternally surprised by receding dunes and advancing shorelines, but these acts have always existed: long before humanity, that is. The eventual mutation that emerges from incessant change is the only noted aspect of the evolution of the globe. Isnít, though, the road of transformation at least as important as the final product? This focus on effect completely denies a place to the shifting behavior our planet engages in. When we refute this basic characteristic of our world, it reacts with violence. This is the World Order, and it is not new. We are owned by our environment, and the perception that this planet is underneath our control is misguided, and will herd us gently and directly to our destruction.