The Weight of Small Things
I keep a single, tiny wool mitten in the back of my desk drawer, its yarn frayed and thinned by the passage of decades. It is a hollow thing, yet it feels heavy with the gravity of a life not yet lived, a vessel for a hand that has long since grown into the world. We spend so much of our time gathering, filling our shelves and our days with the clutter of being, but it is the smallest objects that anchor us to the shore of our own history. They are the quiet witnesses to our beginnings, the soft, tangible evidence that we were once small enough to be held entirely in the palm of a hand. We look at these relics and feel the ache of time’s relentless forward motion, wondering how something so fragile can carry the immense promise of a future. Is it the object itself that holds the memory, or is it the space we leave inside it, waiting for someone to fill it?
Ana Encinas has captured this delicate anticipation in her beautiful image titled Pregnancy Session. It reminds me that we are all just preparing a place for someone who has not yet arrived. Does this image stir a memory of a beginning in your own life?
