Part Of The Story…


I often listen to music from other countries, Africa in particular. Sometimes the lyrics of these songs are in another language, and I have no idea what the artist is singing about. The melody and the musicianship are the draw for me.

Perhaps they’re singing about war, crime, or even debauchery – I would have no idea. Maybe they sing about love. A song that moves me though, is a song that moves me, even if I only know part of the story.

The picture below reminds of that – that we live so much of life, based on the partial story.

I took this picture yesterday, and I think it’s pretty. You might look at it and see that it’s moss growing between some bricks, and you might also think it’s a pretty picture. But that’s only part of the story…

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Those aren’t bricks. The picture is of moss growing in the welded corner of an iron flatbed cart – probably 100 years old or more. I pass the cart daily on my walk. If carts could talk, this one would, no doubt, have some stories to tell.

I can step close to it. I can zoom in with my camera, and capture a pretty part of the cart as it is now, and that pretty part can be appreciated – but it isn’t the whole of the story.

So much of what I appreciate in life, is wondrous to me, even though I only know part of the story. My fears too, I must acknowledge, are often based on just part of the story.

And I ponder, in fear or in wonder, who among us really knows the whole of any story…? Jhciacb

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