There is a tiny creek that I love to pass by; it's a little cleft in the land, and it's protected from automotive intrusion by a guardrail. This winter, the guardrail was not sufficiently strong to prevent a wayward car from forcing its attentions on the creek:



For several months thereafter, the guard rail lay like that, much more intimate with the creek than it had every been before. Finally, the highway department put in a shiny new guardrail.

. . . But the other day I went by and . . .



This time it almost looks deliberately rammed, as if its very shininess was provocation.

There's shivered safety glass in the crannies:



I like the green shadows of the leaves on the post: