I look at this photograph and am reminded of the days I was young. It is a picture taken outside our house. I can see the house in the back ground, with the front door ajar. The fresh coat of white painting on its outside walls beaming in the sunshine, I also see my mother’s rose bushes blocking the green steps to the front porch. I remember them now, five in total they were, for I used to hop up and down these steps counting each one. The grass is green, trimmed short, with the pavement wet.
On the porch, is seated my father, but all I can see in this picture is his head. I know he is seated on his favorite locking chair, smoking a pipe, and reading. But here I see his gaze in the direction of my brother. I see my brother to far left of the picture, running towards the camera. He was around fix years of age when this was taken. He is in a khaki short with a red t-shirt that is very wet and bare foot. He is also wearing a huge glean on his face, running with his arms stretched out. He looks happy, jumpy it seems one more step and he will stumble.