Cast Quietly

The manmade bit of beauty I love most is this, any sign of wear that can’t come along overnight. A simple hook hanging, spinning loose unlatched, as a line of time is dragged through paint and gently digs into the wood. An endless circle formed by daily action. It’s reasons like this why I find the saddest folks are those opposed to their wrinkles. They are raw canvas to their stories, the cracked surface cast quietly by time. They are the memory mold used once to form themselves. No need to break or fix it till life gets lost. The man whose door this was has been gone these past two decades. Still, in this tangible sense, he stays.

March 21, 2026
Karsdale, Nova Scotia

Year 19, Day 6705 of my daily journal.