this coast, this island

everything grows too easily here, clings too heavily, overruns itself and drips with excessive fecundity. the wind stirs the air too vigorously, sweeps across the grass too aggressively, makes waves in the landscape refusing to just let things lie still, let our ideas settle,our dreams to drift at their own pace.
change is constant, though sometimes imperceptible, sneaking, surprising and crawling through the cracks in sandcastles we build.
our moats will fill with ocean water,but just at that moment of satisfaction, destiny realised, the battlements start to crumble and we are left with nothing but a heap of sand and the ocean, frenetic, oozing and incessant.
the earth is soft and roots grow deep, grabbing, ripping and rearranging as they go.
we are reminded that life will go on, not withoutbeauty,but always with a subtle violence.