'Driftwood: nature's minimalist sculpture.'

The driftwood stretched out across the sand like a relic abandoned by time. Its gnarled branches cast shadows that seemed to dance with the rhythm of the waves. I traced its surface with my fingers—smooth in some places, rough in others—each texture a testament to its journey. The ocean whispered secrets only it could understand as I stood there wondering how many tides it had endured. Behind me, the vegetation swayed gently in the breeze, as if nodding in agreement with some unspoken truth. The air was filled with the faint scent of salt and something earthy, grounding me in this moment that felt both fleeting and eternal.