Turtle exits its hiding place beneath a rotten log. Its shell snags on that old, dead wood he drags the log along. Does he know that he's double-shelled? He seems so unaware. When he breaks free, he gains no speed -- just crawls on like he don't care.
A stump in the forest is like a gap in a wedding party photo where they photoshopped out a renegade relative, but forgot to erase the person's loafers.
A jutting rock splits the river, diverging streams never wither, but speed around -- smoothly flowing, still gaining speed -- never slowing, until they reach the deeps.