# Scrapbook.md: Life's Quiet Archive

## Collecting the Fleeting

A scrapbook holds the odds and ends of days gone by—a ticket stub from a rainy concert, a pressed leaf from a walk, a scribbled note from a friend. These are not grand narratives but small proofs of living. In "scrapbook.md," we do the same with words. On a quiet evening, I open a new file and jot down the frost on my window this December morning, or the way my coffee steamed against the cold air. No filters, no edits beyond the honest slant of italics. It's a digital shelf where fragments find a home, safe from the rush of time.

## The Power of Plain Text

Markdown's gift is its humility. No bold graphics or vanishing apps—just hyphens, hashes, and asterisks that any future reader can parse. Like glue on yellowed paper, it binds our scraps without fanfare. In 2025, amid endless scrolls and algorithms, this simplicity feels like rebellion. We choose what sticks: a recipe passed down, a half-remembered dream, the names of stars we once named for our children.  
- A line from a book that shifted your view.  
- The scent of pine from a family hike.  
- Questions still unanswered after a long year.

## Pages That Endure

This scrapbook isn't for show; it's for the self who returns years later, tracing faded ink to remember joy amid the ordinary. It whispers that meaning hides in the margins, the overlooked bits we bother to save.

*Today, December 13, 2025, I paste in one more memory—and feel the pages thicken.*