walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea. An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up
for an instant. At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer’s retina
as he stood in the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.
|—||Ted Kooser, “After Years” (via oofpoetry)|
During the fledgling age of portrait photography, it was of the utmost importance for the subjects to stay still for a period of time. Obviously since this would be difficult for children, their mothers were brought in for the portrait.
For reasons I cannot fathom, it was common for the mothers to be covered in cloth or a curtain. These fabric- covered matriarch were jokingly referred to as ‘Ghost Mums’.
There are two people you’ll meet in your life. One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that peak their interest. The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe fold corners of you that inspired them most. You will meet these two people; it is a given. It is the third that you’ll never see coming. That one person who not only finishes your sentences, but keeps the book.