It was a cold and windy day in St. Joseph, MI, where the relentless waves crashed against the pier with a powerful rhythm, a symphony of nature asserting its presence. Seagulls danced in the gusts, their wings slicing through the crisp air, while the landscape around them bore the weight of the chill. The beach was a canvas of pristine sand, unmarked except for a solitary piece of driftwood, weathered and worn, standing sentinel against the elements. This driftwood seemed to hold stories of the past, a quiet observer of the tumultuous beauty surrounding it, as if it bore witness to the ever-changing dance of land and sea.