A mother and her child.
I try to decipher her gaze and, entranced, have fallen under her spell.
She could be a Madonna, holding a babe in swaddling clothes, safe in
its mother’s arms and not yet aware of the world outside.
What are those eyes and that enigmatic smile that lingers on her lips
trying to tell me? There’s magic here that transcends time.
This was my mother. This was me. 91 years ago.