The driftwood is soft in my hands and bleached by the salt and sun. It's surface swirls like the eddies of the river that kisses the ocean not far away. I run my fingertips over the ridges and already my mind has turned to a use for this piece. A simple plank for candles perhaps. It has already been made beautiful by the briny currents, all I need to do is add the finishing touches.
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