Fog Is a Really Big Land Ghost

    In four billion years, there have been many continents that died.

    You've heard of the famous ones -- Pangaea, proud monolith;
    Laurasia, home of dinosaurs -- but there were others, so many,
    many others. The grand march of time swallowed islands whole,
    scraped them up like residue from the baking pan of the world.

    Everything has a soul. Everything remembers.

    Gondwana floats gently over London now, remembering when the world
    was hot and green. She loves the lights. There were no lights when
    she was alive. There were no lights when the world was so hot and
    green.

    Rodinia settles onto the dray Atacama, bringing moisture from the
    sea. She moves much faster now, unhindered by gravity and
    friction, slipping through the walls of this new house. The walls
    are always moving, yet she stays, floating in and out, bringing
    moisture.

    Vaalbara, eldest and most fire-born, sneaks in tendrils and wisps
    over her old haunting grounds. Her bones are buried in the
    outback, ancient creations resting unrotted through all the
    fearsome gnawing of time. She likes the summers here. The heat
    reminds her, so faintly, of what it was like to be born. In the
    wildfires, she sees the magma oceans of her youth.

    Everything has a soul. Everything remembers.

        -- mindfulwrath on Tumblr