The river rushes headlong down the mountain. It hits the plain and starts to wander. By the time it nears the coast it is meandering in all directions, searching blindly for an outlet to the sea. The pounding surf has built a bulwark of sand that blocks the way. The river turns in on its self, gathering in eddies and pools and billabongs. Swamps, marshes, wetlands, bog. The river is calm, still, tranquil. Slowly it rises, breaches the wall and rushes out, clashing violently with the waves trying to get in. The river and the sea fighting and dancing around each other. Dancing and fighting.