My dad used to read to me every night when he was home. The first few years of my life he was gone a lot during the Korean war. Then for many years he was traveling making training films. But when he was home bedtime meant story time. I don't remember my mom reading to me, but she probably did.
Click on image to see it larger.
I love this photo of the woman and child snug in the hammock on a summer day. Close your eyes and imagine the sounds of her voice and the birds in the trees, the feeling of a breeze lightly touching your skin, and the warmth of the child's body next to yours.
I was thrilled when I found this photo. It is featured in Tattered and Lost: The Quiet Art of Reading.
This my contribution to Sepia Saturday this week.
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