At the rise.

Where should one start a story? Start, because it’s neither the beginning nor the end but simply the parting of the curtains and story, since we know there are as many truths in the play of life as there are actors on its stage. Let us not even contemplate the views of the audience in the event we get overwhelmed by the infinite possibilities of, truth.

We could start this story with another word instead, peace. Some might say that it is the brother of truth. That they hold hands and to find one is to find the other. It is such a small and in some ways, insignificant word, peace, yet its profundity drives so many of us to do extraordinary things in its pursuit. It has the appearance of an ever-shifting mirage, one we chase in vain across the plains of our lives. We look at those who find it with a kind wonder and even some unspoken envy.

So then, let us start the story with peace or the lack thereof on the Dark Continent that is Africa, a farm in some small corner of its vastness where a bloody war is raging and the child that stood crying amongst it, terrified.

“Perhaps he knew, as I did not, that the Earth was made round so that we would not see too far down the road.”

― Karen Blixen, Out of Africa