curious collection of bugs on an oak stump.
When I’m on the road to a warm, sunny destination, I pack a sensible wide-brimmed hat.
It used to rebound quickly after freeing it from the confines of my suitcase. After years of twisting, stuffing and squashing, though, it’s tired and misshapen.
Then there’s the chip in the polish on my right big toe, an imperfection from kicking a heavy object by accident.
A weathered brim.
Imperfect but functional.
I prefer lived-in to pristine.