There's something inspiring about driftwood. People, from toddlers to ancients, seem compelled to rearrange it, to create something new of it. Fences around sandcastles, teepees or hideouts leaning on logs, shacks simple and complex,
roofed or
open to the sunshine, full-sized
art installations, barricades and territorial markers, circular "rooms" with a fire pit at the centre,
bagel holders, flagpoles (I saw one today with a purple t-shirt as a flag); all doomed to disappear with the next tide or the next winter's storms.
At sundown this evening, I met a driftwood dinosaur.
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| Young T-rex, human-sized, Stories Beach |
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| He's built near the top of the intertidal zone, where only the worst storms will reach him. And his creator intends him to last: he's put together with many brass screws. |
I don't know why he has a rock in his head.
