Perspective and the stories we tell

While I wait to fly to Brussels, I have been living in Edmonds these past several weeks. My mother-in-law has graciously provided me with shelter, food, and lots of love. In a new place, I have created a new rhythm to my days. This rhythm involves a daily constitutional of at least an hour, often more.

I love the long walks and have enjoyed finding secret places. Each day, I pass by sights that have become familiar. When I enter the quiet cool of the forest at a local park, I say hello and ask after its welfare.

Weeks ago, I happened upon a pair of broken glasses on the sidewalk. I took a photo of the frames. Every so often, I catch sight of them again, each time in a different place.

I wonder about the sights these glasses have seen,and  the stories they might tell. I have to realize that so much of life is a story I create—stories of joy, suffering, and everything in between—and I wonder how much truth there is in most of those stories.

There is a saying, if these walls could talk.

I wonder what these frames might say as well.