There was a time when it was joyous to be formless. It was when it was its own neighbor, before it became a passive vessel for value.
It might have come from the northern lands or maybe the southern, it can't remember which. It had severed its lot lines and surrendered to a stream of promise.
Like-minded lands gathered around it, and they overflowed in celebration. Together, the capes, cays and sounds drifted as a wondrous and wild tangle.
When the pregnant odors announced its approach, people pinched their noses, grabbed their children, and locked their doors. Yet some would peer from the cliffs, through the approaching swarms, for a hazy glimpse. Then it moved on, as quickly as it came.