Just wanted to share these with you all! A picnic bench near the lake with some fabulous texture. I was examining it just a few moments ago and realized that is truly is the epitome of drift-wood, though it was hardly drifting. But what really made me stop was the wood itself. Insignificant as it may seem, I must have thought about it enough to snap the pictures. But now that I sit and stare, I think that this, what might otherwise be considered broken and dirty, is actually quite lovely. Sure, it's rough and weathered, but it is still in one piece, surviving the elements in its own, not-alive way. It's cracked and bent, but has supported person after person for who knows how long without breaking. Through storms and calm, it has not bowed to the pressures of being sat on, even though those things scrape its skin to the point of bitter roughness. It is still wood, doing its job day in and day out, taking the abuse, but staying firm. On the inside it is strong and just as lovely as it was when it was new, while the outside shows its age. People have probably left their marks on it, carving their names into its skin so that it cannot forget those who sat on it, but there are also the stains from the families who came and thanked it for its part in their memories. All the remnants of things past, etched into it forever.
Sort of like people, no?