he sits, silhouetted by light and lace, corduroy rustling on corduroy, composed, hands clasping cup, pensive.
gazing solemnly over his straight and weighted shoulders is himself, as a boy. between them, dust dances, filling the metres, the minutes, the decades, with movement and memories, and the space between black-and-white and grey with a lifetime of colour.
very emotional and touching photo
ReplyDeletethis is so special lynn! i really love this one.
ReplyDeleteGreat, Lynn, touching.
ReplyDeletemy granddad always had corduroy trousers too, and..had a photo of himself asa boy..one christmas, just after id had one of my first pay cheques, i bought him some beautiful corduroy fabric from libertys, the colour wasa sought bruin-green. it was beautiful. i then spent a weekend after christmas in their cottage making him trousers with my grandmother, who even then cut her own pattern,a craft i had just mastered being fresh out of art school. beautiful memories, thanks special friend.xxxxs.
ReplyDeleteI like your soft, carefully crafted words, and the rhythm that brings them alive. He looks at you through the glass of the frame, and the glass of the camera, did you notice?
ReplyDeletei love your mini stories!
ReplyDeleteFor two years now, your photos and words have never failed to knock me out...
ReplyDeleteYou did it again Lynn: a great photo (the reds of the flower and its reflection!) and a sad thought: the passing of time...
ReplyDeletenice storytelling Lynn ...:-)
ReplyDeleteI love Grandfathers.
ReplyDelete