The other day, I noticed a butterfly. From fifty feet away I thought it was spray-painted onto this large rock next to a tree, near a city garden. I had a few moments before my bus so I wandered over to check it out. Carved into this huge rock was not one, but maybe five or six butterflies on every flat side of it.
This carving was created in the middle of the city, across the street from apartment buildings and stoplights and hundreds of cars, but I felt like I was in the middle of the woods. Lichen was growing over it, even spiders had found camouflage in the lines of their wings. I thought about the person who might have done this, the tools they might have used, and how long it had been there. A year? Twenty years?
Just think of what archaeologists might make of something like this in a thousand years.