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When it darkens, it will have the same allure to me that old osage does, and faded jeans, hats that forgot the factory crease, wooden stairs with the center of the step worn down, and brass doorknobs palmed to a mellow mustard color.
Think about those old fifties Bears and their leather grips. I see the smoothed edges, the polished patina, and wonder about the people who used them and where the bow went. Those hands will always be part of the bow. A bow without age and coup marks has not lived much.
Plus I like yellow.
Killdeer