There have been many times in my child's life that remind me to push forward. It's easy to get distracted with every day home life, but then I have an unexpected moment where I get a peek of the things that capture his imagination. I am then reminded of why I wanted to write in the first place.
My son is five years old. He is enchanted by paintings of Henry VIII and Vincent Van Gogh. He shocks adults when we go swimming because he says "Look! I'm floating like Ophelia!" when he's practicing his back floats. He's referring to John Everett Millais' painting of Hamlet's sad lady as she drifts to her death in a cold stream, but we don't tell him the sad part. He also loves when I read him Edgar Allan Poe's poems. I photographed the vintage copy of Poe's work that we read together and hope that he'll cherish this lovely tattered copy long after he's grown. I plan on keeping this drawing he did a few months ago as well. Perhaps one day he'll share them both with his own children.