Not enough light. Too much movement. I’m not sure why I took this picture, but it came out all wrong… or did it? It keeps me returning for a look, the nostalgia it provokes vanishing the desire to delete it.
My mother was a seamstress when I was a child and we lived in Cuba. When we arrived in this country, she started working at a factory, many days bringing work home with her to earn some extra money in the evenings. It was during this time that I would sit on this same sewing machine while she worked.
I watched. We talked. A memory from a lifetime ago… yet vivid and sweet.