Every year, when Aunt Katrina comes home, Dad invites the grandchildren to the airport to fly in the Call Air, an airplane built by our family. (Not ours, but Dad's cousins or something...we are Calls on my Grandmother Bagley's side).
And of course, we picked the worst time to take a picture, when the sun is directly above and blinding all who dare pose.
But, in 50 years, we will not care about the shadows cast on the faces, just that we were there, and we were young.
But, in 50 years, we will not care about the shadows cast on the faces, just that we were there, and we were young.
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