Seven years ago, I wrote:

“Charlotte A. Cavatica died last night, and there are new tear splotches mingled with the original drops spilled by me, 26 years ago, in my childhood copy of the book.

Sweet Jeffrey fell apart last night when Charlotte died, all alone, at the empty fairgrounds. He curled up in my lap and sobbed, through torrents of tears, how he didn’t WANT Charlotte to die.

And my teardrops fell into his soft red hair as he wept in my lap.”

This morning, before the sun or her brothers were up, Abby crawled into bed and snuggled next to me, a paper copy of Charlotte’s Web in her hand, and began to read.

There is so much I love about this photograph… the relaxed hand with small dimples resting gently on her side, the lighting, the closeness of early morning with her next to me, her book propped open while her eyes are a million miles away, already transported into the story… And so it goes.