An old milliner’s striped hat box, now faded and reincarnated by its late owner into a correspondence catalogue of letters from childhood friends, past roommates, old lovers and faraway cousins, sat amongst frayed copies of financial statements and middle aged tax forms, dancing with forty year-old photos of young girls with shiny bare arms and knees and shoulders, their cheeks red-rose blossomy.  The photographer’s camerawork captured the radiance of the sun that lent a lucid sheen to the girls’ knowing eyes as if they knew they were attempting to permanently imprint the temporary.


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