It was as if the barnacles were a choir, some singing with wide open mouths and others waiting their turn.
The barnacles clung there giving the old rock such a wondrous personality. He truly was the old man of this shoreline.
The barnacles clung to the rock as tiny snow-capped mountains.
The barnacles were tiny lessons in how chaos is part of order, how though they grow in their random arrays, they are part of a very structured world.
In nature the beautiful is often the rough and the wild rather than anything polished to a shine, and of this the barnacles were a fine example.
The barnacles were these tiny white volcanoes covering the rocks.