Erosion

The weekend was swell, thanks for asking. The third floor view over the sandy beach was spectacular. The missus and I proudly worked our way through half a bottle of Tequila and two bottles of wine in less than 48 hours.

Peering out my window, however, besides the numerous kites and occasional dead bird, there did appear something of a geological mystery. Said mystery being Ecola Creek.

The creek, clear and cold, runs rapidly down from the looming coastal range. Clear-cut and crosshatched with highways, the coastal range is a never ending source of deluge and myriad soggy miseries. However, by all historical accounts, Ecola Creek has been present for some time, at least hundreds of European-counted years, and likely much much longer.

It is a broad creek, some 30 feet across, and it runs swiftly over the sandy beach. The aquatic erosion in the sand is observable, with slices of sandy bank falling into the rushing water every few seconds.

Throughout the day, the creek changes course and wipes away entire swaths of land. However, each night, when the tide comes in, the entire process gets reset.

The rolling tide washes away the creek bed. It rebuilds the bank and redraws the course of the water. Every night, the tired decayed creek, with its lost way and crumbling walls, disappears beneath the foaming deep and is reborn, as if a new creek altogether, each morning. No trace of the deep water-cut gouge is left from the day before. It is never the same creek twice.

I'm certain there is a metaphor for life in there somewhere. I'm kinda drunk though, and fairly tired. Tomorrow is Monday and I need to sleep.

So off you go, my rambling sophists. Wax existential to your hearts' content. Tell me what my creek means. And tomorrow, after a night's rest, I'll post a new post, as if it were a new blog altogether.