Yesterday my little girl Piper received a little history of her great-great grandfather, my grandmother's father, from my Aunt Chris, our family historian and all-around-wonderful aunt. Included with the history were some photos of my grandmother when she was young. This morning, I couldn't get this photo out of my mind, the look in my grandma's eyes, the softness that I knew even when her face was far changed. She was young like me, experienced life as I do now, in a different time.
I composed this image with a tulip Piper snapped off the other day, fallen, dried, bittersweet. The man in the photo, blurred behind the flower, is my great-grandfather, who actually lived in Charleston, SC, until he was nine. How strange to think that, in a way, our move here has brought me home.
I had a couple shots that were a bit photographically better today, but this was the one my heart came back to, the one that revealed a summer memory I never lived, the one that took me back to springs and summers and winters and falls with the woman who taught me so much about living, just by doing it, by having done it, the one that reminded me who I am, who my God made me to be.
You know, I have seen that look in my eyes...