two sailin' towards the sun. three, countin' the little one.

a bouquet of photographs taken when francis was but four weeks new.

i am desperate to remember, and she captured it all: us, now three, in our apartment tucked four flights up, where we moved when he was a blossom in my belly, in the hope that it would be a place for a baby — a family — to grow in. small motherhood moments — milk, a nuzzle, a song. the way the light floods our southward windows just so. mama and nursling. papa and boy (god, how i hope he grows up to be just like him). candles flickering, coffee on. forehead wrinkles and pudding cheeks. a swaddle escaped. the tenderness. the cooing, humming, breathing. hours and days with our dove of a boy who stretches with gusto and smiles in his dreams.

photographs i could climb into.

(photographs by belle savransky, title lyrics by iron & wine)