They corked a bottle or two in their youths. But now they sit companionably alongside the path. Watching a new world, and just waiting.
Their backs are bent with the weight of life. Some limbs are lost in the storms. Their knuckles are gnarled from the cold frosty morns’, and their skin thickened, sun beaten brown. Deep scars tell stories of steel wounds, while evergreen leaves grow sparse.
Now, ants crawl up through the crevices. Ivy clasps with her fingers and climbs. Lichen and moss colour with blue green bruises. And young saplings push their way past.
But, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Seeing that every picture tells a story. This one, of wine bottle and cork.