One year after my parent's divorce, my father rented a duplex and we were to stay with him all summer, and only see mother every other weekend. She gave me a little box, I remember, that had some awful quote on the front about being far apart, so that when I missed her I could have it and know she was thinking of me.
One day later on Caroline stepped on it, and my world fell to pieces.
She was probably only about three, but I hated her for it.
I spent the rest of that summer in the back yard, a meadow, all giant and yellow and endless and grassy.
I think it was full of wheat, I'm not sure, I only remember that it was very high and soft.
I was seven maybe. and so many of my own insides had already been lost it felt.
is why I photograph meadows so much.