The joy of discovery is a wonderful thing. It's something that beings of all ages experience. An ancient arrowhead uncovered in the bed of a dry rivulet, buckstacy in the pocket of newly laundered jeans, a new favorite band, a scrap of unnoticed steak found after the humans have retired to the den.
For many people, it can be a lifelong fascination. A passion that drives them to hunt through otherwise unwanted junk for that magical find. It can make a day of rooting around looking for stored holiday lights an excursion rather than a chore. Once among the dust and piles of items in the attic, one might stumble on a box of your children's kindergarten drawings or photos of that day at the beach long ago.
Any archeology buff can tell you that the detritus of lives long past leave a plethora of historical relics. Just look around. Walk a path. Keep your eyes open. There is, for the lucky few, a present waiting. Wrapped pleasingly in space age plastic, a time capsule marking the passing of man and beast. Saved from the ravages of time and weather.
The most astute of us are overjoyed that anyone would be so kind as to preserve our past in this age of digitized and compressed memories. Rejoice that a beacon of colored synthetic material prevents the unwitting destruction of the encased valuables. Skeptics may say that canine fecal matter is no man's treasure. I say it surely is. Why else would these treasure sacks be saved from the trash bin? Why such elaborate preservation technques? Such care has been given for a reason. This is certainly one gift where the giver would revel in its regifting. One can only hope they are one day be on the receiving end of such genorosity.
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