Watching her, watching my phone. I couldn’t resist taking advantage of her quiet to capture the moment. To capture all that she is, who she is.
She asked me to blow dry her hair straight that morning. I did the best I could; her hair just wants to wave.
Those are my knee socks she’s wearing; she insisted because they match her dress. She wore them with plastic glass slippers all around the town of Hanover to see Cinderella, the ballet, on a winter’s day in March.
Because she’s that kind of girl. All girl, all the time.
And all mine.