A little photo commentary

My half-sister Natalie posted this photo on her blog as well and I when I saw it there out of the context of my memory, I felt like I should share why this particular photo was so poignant to me.

Here she is, my funny mom, sitting on her swing under her tree at dusk with messy hair, having just woken up from her snooze between afternoon and evening rehearsal.

She sweetly holds Kiste's face, her favorite hairy grand-dog (may she rest in peace), who loved to sleep by her swing in the front yard under one of the sycamores my dad planted for each of the kids.

The porch lights of our yellow house glowing in the back ground.

I like to think of everything that appears in this photo having moved on to a safer place where time holds still, where memories and sacrifices are honored and kept sacredly on display.

When we moved the family out of the yellow house after mom died, we left the swing behind. There was no place to put it at dad's condo and it seemed to belong under our trees, regardless of who occupied the cupboards and closets behind the green front door.

Riggs legend has it that at one point mom sold her diamond to pay the mortgage on that yellow house. A tangible sacrifice that only represents one of many my parents made to keep that roof (and those trees) overhead.

Kiste has since past on, the house has been sitting vacant for months and the lights on the porch no longer glow at the end of our long driveway. The trees are dying from lack of water and the swing that I remember being a mother's day gift, is gone.

Ah well, a different time that is now hallowed simply because it is gone.