Abby Reading
Last night, while changing over the laundry, I caught this image of Abby, reading Calvin and Hobbes by the pink glow of her lantern, and the timelessness of it caught my breath in my chest. Leg folded under her, braids grazing her shoulders, bangs tickling her eyelashes, engrossed in a book. She looks tremendously like my mother at her age, but she has a seriousness, an intellect that surpasses my own by magnitudes. But for just this moment, she captures the age of six in perfect archetype.

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