I was walking along a beach on the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia, the wind blowing so strongly that I needed to lean into it and push myself forward as if stepping upwards even as I was moving along very level terrain. It's the way I felt about the piece of wood I found - driftwood pine, leaning itself into a huge pile of snow-encrusted seaweed at the high tide line. There was a bend at its point of most leaning, as if it had been there for a hundred years slowly forming into that seaweed mound, perfectly placed there upon its bend. There seemed to be such a bend as to effect a circularity within, possibly deep within the grain, and I picked up the piece of driftwood and attached it to my backpack, and when I placed the backpack on my back, I felt its own leaning, forming and we all leaned into the wind together.
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