There he is, my father, in his white shirt, nicely pressed pants, standing beside my mother who is seated, her best dress on, and smiling. He's smiling too, under his soft hat. They are photo'd against the not-yet picture window of the kitchen, that reflects a lot of shrubbery. I cannot make out from here just what kind of bushes are there, and a little bird is sitting on a stalk of some kind. But the photo is black and white, so I'm missing a lot.
And there is another window and I believe morning glories, her favorite flower, are climbing up and over and reflected in the window, and I wish I could identify the heavy foliage here which of course is black in the photo. I do believe it is a reflection of the old apple tree which grew at the corner of the garage, and which has long since been cut down to make way for the white dogwood.
I see what appears to be steps in the background too, roughly laid. Was there a door there once, or did the steps lead to a screened-in porch, now only a cement floor and the ramp made to accommodate my mother's wheelchair. Of course this was long before the photo -- you note that she is sitting in a kitchen chair. I don't think there were lawn chairs in our yard then. Well, maybe.
It does appear to be Sunday. And they both look happy.
