Packed nigh on two stones since last holiday

[skitch2488]

I have a snapshot of my mother and I pulled over on a highway in New Mexico. The sun reflects our tortoise-shell sunglasses and our hair is the same shade of straw blonde. Stray hairs rise in the heat and form halos around our strong jaws, our cheekbones. Encircling me, her arm is strong. She pulls me closer at the hip, wanting to carry me like she did when I was a child. Whispy gusts blow at the bottom of my gauzy white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. The dust at our feet is as textured as the sunburn that streaks across our cheeks and foreheads, ruddy and red in exactly the same places. We are similar, with only thirty years between us.

I know everyone says their worst nightmare would be to grow up to be your mother, but I couldn't think of being anyone better...