The Patina of a Scholar’s Iron Bookend

A bookend’s iron base is rusted at the corner—orange blooms spreading like a wildfire, a record of tomes held and knowledge hoarded, a reminder that even guardians of words are touched by time. The patina is a map of wisdom, each speck a memory of a sentence that shaped a mind. Shelve a book; the rusted corner grips, a lesson in how discovery is in the worn, not the gleaming.

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