On some mornings, after rainy nights scrub away the dust, everything becomes clear and you can see really, really far. The mountains arrive then, suddenly in the east as though they were always there, and stand silent, looking west to the beaches, to where the sea wages its endless war on land. Someday, they know, it will overrun the beaches and march unimpeded to their foothills. Someday it will be their turn to join battle. Time passes, vision dims, and they leave as quietly as they come, except for the occasional sentry standing vigil here and there.