I look at these guard rails that trace along the winding roads. Some are new, shining and flawless. They have not seen much traffic, and they have no knowledge of anything but safe drivers. But they are not abundant in numbers. A majority of the guard rails were once like them, but are now weathered and worn. Covered in road salt and dirt, kicked up from the cars flying by in great haste, their only memories are those of change, losing their shine, their flaws becoming more prominent as others look at the rails. But they are what keep the speeding cars from escaping from the safe road, and into a side forest of disaster. But along with the adolescent rails, stand the worn down rails. From the time of our fathers, caked in rust and grit, dented from the most gruesome events over the years. They will soon be replaced. They will be melted down, and replaced by a newer, inexperienced rail. It’s funny really, how we drive past the rails, and fail to make the connection between our lives, and the life of a rail.