Twelfth Night

And so it was that Twelfth Night came upon us as I looked longingly at the grand Christmas tree, growing old gracefully, still bright and cheerful, warming our home, knowing it soon would pass.

The celebration of the end of Christmas and it has indeed been a good day. Callum was learning to fly with wings on my bed this morning and later, he scurried round the garden like a little angel in flight, feasting on weeds and leaves, dirt and flowers. It feels, and indeed I know it is, such a long time since we spent any time in the garden, the unseasonally hot morning quite devoid of mist.

"Where's the trunk gone?" asks Reuben as we finish reading The Giving Tree together in his bed, I read the longer passages and Reuben everything in between, so happy is he to learn to read a book anew. And that's a hard one to explain, for is the trunk not that essence of being a mother, little by little of yourself being given away yet somehow never taking anything from you, only giving back to you, so you are more than the sum of the parts you were before. I often choke reading that book and its meaning, not stumbling past that wrench of a page. I ask him after, "What's your favourite book?" listing the Seuses and Eastmans and Donaldsons and Wise Browns and indeed all the books we love. He looks at me and replies "The Giving Tree".

And so it was that Twelfth Night came upon us as I looked longingly at the grand Christmas tree, growing old gracefully, still bright and cheerful, warming our home, knowing it soon would pass.

Please welcome my new baby to the family. Clasped in my hands today she felt quite at home, knew her place amongst her siblings, how to behave and already put to work for the greater good that is that most precious of gifts, a treasure trove of visual memories.

Thank you Callum for ever making photographing you such pleasure.


Today's my 666th.