A stick. Just a washed up piece of wood. Or is it?
To me it is up there with the enchanting sparkle of a diamond. It just happens to be in a different category of beauty – the scaled back, raw kind.
Months (years?) of being in the sea, washed backwards and forwards by the waves have left it with a delicate silvery sheen. And black eyes that can see everything…
The tales this piece of driftwood could tell!