Even driftwood looks like it's reaching for Wi-Fi these days.

The driftwood seemed to mimic some forgotten choreography as it sprawled across the sand—its gnarled arms reaching outward like a silent plea to the horizon. I crouched beside it, tracing its worn surface with my eyes. The grains of sand clung stubbornly to its curves as though they had found a home after countless tides. There was something strangely comforting about its stillness amid the restless waves. The clouds above began to thin in places, letting through streaks of light that danced on the water. I glanced back at the footprints trailing behind me; they looked shallow and fleeting against the eternal rhythm of the ocean. A seagull called out somewhere in the distance, breaking the spell for a moment before I resumed walking further down the shore.