A great shot and words in harmony follow me for some days and remind me of another image. Every morning I drive over a child and his grandfather on the way to school. I call for myself and Ali Ahmed small because their skin is like honey amber and the black curls of the child leave no doubt about its origins.
Small Ahmed must be 5 or 6 years, he calmly walking or hopping, the satchel on his back, hand rooted in that of his grandfather.
Ali walks with a steady, responsible and serious about school, leading the child calmly.
Our meeting is fleeting and every morning I watch two silhouettes that ignore my existence.
The scene is commonplace and hugs me every day by restarting its quiet and unchanging. Because the child advances toward his future, his grandfather, whose route has already made many detours, accompanies its not a metronome, and in the moment, everything that attracts me, these are both hands in one another.
The big hand guide and protect the little hand surrenders and warms.
I think of my grandmother who I have not said enough I love you. His hand has often taken without mine that I perceive the gift she gave me: take me on the dock of my life, show me the horizon, being careful where to put their feet, tell me without a word, just with the pressure of his fingers on mine, that love will be my best guide and save me from everything.
only I had time to thank her for giving me so well ... helped grow.
Thanks Archie ...
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