So, I'm cruising along some remote two lane, rounding the curve, and...

there it is!

An abandoned building, an old car, a wrecking yard, a roadside distraction.

I stop and look around.

Who lived here? Whose stuff was this?

Our stuff has a way of defining our lives. Our lives have a way of defining our stuff.

It's the majesty of history exemplified in a massive building facade and in a tiny artifact.

Indeed, in these places there is beauty, in these things there is life!

Ultimately, in the fullness of time, it'll be swept away.

But now, in the interim, it's all... what?

Junk?

Junk you say?