Far below I spied an old dock slowly crumbling, its disintegrating fragments carried away one wave at a time. High up on outcroppings overlooking the bay many fortresses made of concrete, iron and wood were decaying. All of these things built by men were returning to their natural states; elemental blocks of minerals, rocks and trees.
I stood in the strong winds looking at the signatures in paint upon each of these disappearing structures; each layer bleeding into the next one. Looking at the tagging I was struck by irony. Those who built this place wanted to build a structure that would stand for ages. Those who brought their paint cans to write on these structures wanted to make their mark on the ages.
Turning my eyes to look at the vastness of where the ocean met the sky, I stood in this place of recognition. Only Jesus could be a foundation that would never crumble and only He could add my signature so it would never fade.