Working on a marker. Type here not quite right. Time flies. Love the people you love.
Scanned a black and white negative this morning. Apple Inc is making this hard to do. If I were to upgrade
beyond OS 10.6.8 my scanner would turn into a brick.
It was a delight to have no processing choices regarding color.
The Tri-X decided.
Found this cut down contact print, slightly larger than a postage stamp, my mom reading about animals to my sister in 1953.
EG’s tribe gathered, from Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, Washington State, Florida, Mexico, Massachusetts, Kentucky, Illinois,
from Fredericksburg, Charlottesville, Richmond, Warrenton, Marshall, Brooklyn, from the other side. Very sweet couple of days.
Train whistles, crows, a bluff over the James River, special grave dirt, wonderful clergy,
cellist from the Richmond Symphony.
Emma read a poem. Gary and Sam spoke to EG’s character, Ned, Weezie and Scott read from the Bible.
A MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER
What will you take from me
For your wayfaring?
What shall I have to give
You would be sharing?
When you are lonely,
When your feet falter
You will need song.
Music to march by,
Silver and gold,
Fire for warming you
If it be cold;
These things will comfort you,
Carry you far
On the road you are going.
But if a star
Tempt you to follow,
Wings will be needed,
Wings for your flying,
These I have fashioned
From pinions of light,
Caught as they fell
From a swift bird in flight.
I give you for courage
A light heart that sings,
And I who have never flown,
Give you my wings.–Emma Gray Trigg
one of the chromes. 1968.
EMMA GRAY TRIGG
Christmas Play, ’37; Posture Committee, ’38;
The Piper, ’38; Board of Publications, ’38, ’39,
’40; Library Tea, ’39; Arcade Committee, ’39;
Library Committee, ’40; Head of George Washington
Ball, ’40; Senior Play, ’40; Glee Club, ’40;
Enjoys punning at its best
Must have tennis
And she “swims with a vim”
Great amount of common sense
Regards life in proportion
Tries harmony to any tune
Interested in the arts
Generally going to Casanova
The dead might wake into a world like this,
And know its white lost ecstasy their own.
I am a stranger wearing flesh and bone,
Peering beyond my dusty chrysalis.
No scent or sound invades the integrity
Of peace beneath the ermined thatch of pine.
Nor whir of wing, nor quick heart-beat of mine
Shall spill the cradled silence from a tree.
No God of Sinai shatters the timeless pause
With “Thou shalt not.”
But from each holy bush
Love speaks, articulate in this white hush.
Here life and death may meet, obeying new laws,
And mingling as easily as flake with flake.
Into a world like this the dead might wake.–Emma Gray Trigg
Powered by WordPress