Recapitulate (verb): to summarize; to repeat briefly

A gust of wind brought a photograph today.

The little green bird hopped over, examining the tattered image laying on the dirt. It was yellow around the edges, with multiple folds creasing its surface, but the children depicted in it had unmistakable happiness written on their faces. From their outstretched legs and focused eyes, it seemed like they were chasing something. A dog, perhaps. Maybe a father playing tag.

Caressing the photo with a claw, the little bird whistled.

The more it looked at the scene, the more things it noticed—a wild dandelion peeking out of a bush, a mass of clouds blanketing the sky, several houses with red tiles in the background. All of these things made the photo a story. A memory.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

But not real.

Such was the case with all stories—paintings, songs, books—they try to recreate the special moment with colors, music, and words, yet they will always remain mimicries of the original.

The bird looked closer.

In the lower-right corner, was a thumb.

Then, it realized.

The image might be an imitation, but the photographer had their own story—the lens through which their eyes took in the scene, the emotions that had bubbled up in their chest, the place where they might have kept the photo until it became lost in the wind.

…The story about a story.