(no subject)

[searingedrock]

At the top of the Exchange Building of Aberdeen city one stares through floor-length windows to the harbour with its dull icy coldness and to the bright red, orange and yellow of the ships that dock there.  Across the bay at the top of another building, past grey and yellow stone through another pair of windows one can see suited shapes moving in a similar boardroom, staring also into the harbour.  This morning the sun gives life to the sea and warmth to the sky.

The bounty of the sea, of the rock that bears it and the oil below it.  We are the harvesters of the sea, labourers and workers and those who are nourished by it.  We see nothing but our hunger and feel nothing but our fear of it. 

Ten years go, in the heat of a highschool classroom in a hot island country, we studied geography; below the still breeze of a loud ceiling fan we were told about population growth, ceilings, natural disasters, stagnation.  War. 

What would we do if the light dies and order withdraws?  What mercy from an Eastern nation that is ravenous and unstoppable?  There is a change coming.