The Weight of Sand

We build to defy the wind. We stack stone upon stone, believing that if we make the walls thick enough, the earth will respect our boundaries. But the earth has no memory of our intentions. It only knows the slow, grinding patience of the tide and the way sand moves when no one is watching. To stand in a place that is being reclaimed is to understand that permanence is a lie we tell ourselves to sleep through the night. Eventually, the dunes rise to meet the eaves. The windows fill with grit. The path back to the shore is erased by the same force that carved the cliff. We are not the masters of this landscape; we are merely visitors who have stayed long enough to see the dust settle. What remains when the structure finally bows to the weight of the silence?

Nuno Alexandre has captured this quiet surrender in his image titled Disappearing Lighthouse. It is a reminder that everything we hold onto is already slipping away. Does it make the standing any less meaningful?