Remembering the illustrations of the late great Margot Zemach.
The image has faded over the years. In truth, it was blurry to begin with. Of the many small photos my father took while he was a soldier during World War Two, this one remains my favorite. In its more vivid, sharper days, I could see the girl's features and the steam rising from the cup behind the toast on the table. I have known this nameless girl most of my adult life, but only in the last few years have I thought of her as a child of war, a witness to the most cruel actions of a brutal humanity. Maybe that's why the peacefulness of this everyday moment of morning sunlight and breakfast toast grabs at my heart.
Halloween in the 1960's. I went as an artist, of course!