The Self Portrait Of A Mother

The Self Portrait of A Mother

Time. Again that silent spectre creeps up on me while I’m not looking, wrapping its long, prying tendrils of history around my fading memories. This time it brings with it a birthday for two. A boy and a girl now the tender age of two years and I then see time slipping away from me with a smirk and a tip of its hat. We turn into our mothers At least that’s what we’re told – that as we age and grow with the years, we take on the shape and form of the person who gave birth to us. We use her ... read more