The Scarred Table
This morning while sitting at the airport in Vancouver having breakfast I happened to notice the table under the table cloth. It was badly scratched and scarred. I wonder how many stories it could tell if it could speak? How many arguments took place at this table, the good times and the bad times. How much food sat untouched or kids scratched the surface because they were bored. What tree the wood was from to make this table…
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