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This is what water, wind, and time and toil reveal
My mother is seventy-five today. She calls it being as old as three black bears. Last year, my father organized her a surprise party including friends and family from out of state; this year, I came over in the afternoon and gave her a reprint of Dorothy B. Hughes' Ride the Pink Horse (1946) and watched my father decorate almond cupcakes with whipped cream and fresh-made strawberry syrup, which neither my mother nor I would exactly have called a strawberry shortcake, but it was delicious. My brother and his family will come for the birthday observed at the end of the week. I finally got the chance to go for a walk with a camera for the first time in months. The camera then naturally died, but I got a harbinger of spring out of it first. The second photo comes courtesy of my father's phone.
My parents are now reminiscing about "Eve of Destruction." My father used to play it back-to-back with Phil Ochs' "Crucifixion." They are pretty sure it's still on vinyl downstairs.
My parents are now reminiscing about "Eve of Destruction." My father used to play it back-to-back with Phil Ochs' "Crucifixion." They are pretty sure it's still on vinyl downstairs.
no subject
I shall tell her!
b) goodness, your camera dying is Just Not Fair.
Just the battery, fortunately! I firmly believe there will be more spring to venture out in. There was spring in 2020.
c) what very colorful pictures, in their own specific ways. (It's also a warmly kind photo of you.)
It's the same light, separated by about half an hour. (Thank you.)