Above the din of the crashing thunder and howling wind, I hear cracking, snapping.

I know it is the bridge. The bridge on which I stand and have stood since I retreated to it almost exactly one year ago. I could never exist on land... but, up here, in the air... I thought things could be so different.

And they were, for a while. The breeze cooled me. The beams, cords, and pillars were there to support me. But a bridge requires land on two sides. Continental drift assured me that my home would be finite; I knew it was only a matter of time. But could I have predicted the hurricane which now bears down on me? Should I have known that something which takes years to build can be destroyed in a lightning flash or a gust of wind?

You can try and change the land as much as you want. You can build your dams, your cities, your bridges. You can construct a building so tall that it scrapes heaven, a towering monument to what you think belongs to you. But in the end, Nature will claim what is rightfully hers. Including you.

The air is just like the land, except there's farther to fall.

I look down at the water below...