Sticks are what remains. What remains of the past, the bones that remain of our lives, what remains of dreams of elsewhere, of adventure and excitement.
They appear lonely, fragile and subject to the elements.
They are all that, but they are also standing proudly, defying those elements, enduring them and surviving. They are reminiscence, memories of our goals, memories of places and people we cherished.
In their simplicity and courage, they are us, our lives, our fights.