They aren't new anymore.
The paint is peeling.
The metal feels warm from the sun, cool from the shade.
You brush your hand along the seat before you sit, feeling the scratches, the dents left by seasons past.
You aren't the first to sit here.
You won’t be the last.
Shinto
Even the worn and weathered carry spirit.
Reverence is not reserved for the new — it is of…