I’m staring at the picture thinking of a story…
At the beautiful brilliant green moss that brings the drab grey ruins alive.
But if there were no ruins what would the moss climb over. If it were a mansion, inhabited and alive, would its occupants give the moss the liberty to grow unfettered? If the window panes had not crumbled, would the sun be able to soak the ground with its warm love?
There is so much beauty in life, and yet there is just as much beauty in decay. Neither could be defined without the other.
I’ve been staring at the picture thinking of a story.
But the picture is the story.
In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 1st September based on a photo by Roger Bulltot