Wood

 She ran a hand over the table's top, marveling, as always, at the wood's purposeful pattern.  Its hardships and identity collaborating in such beautiful script.  One of a billion survivor manuals that no one paid heed to.  All the wooden tables and benches and boats and floors that humans had walked upon, sat upon, danced upon, polished and swept but had never read. 

From My sister's Book That I have the Privilege of Proof and Copy Reading