The pear tree
Xiuying was sitting at a small desk pushed up against the window, working her way through a tedious book on the history of Chinese opera. This was the same room she slept in as a baby. Through the window she could see her mother in the garden, where she seemed to be examining the leaves of the pear tree.
Photography, slow and fast.
"To take a photograph is to align the head, the eye and the heart. It's a way of life" - Henri Cartier-Bresson
The last hour
A dream? I clap both hands to my chest, my face, my neck. The tractor veers across ploughed furrows, snapping me left and right. I take the wheel and pull back on the joystick, decelerating to a rapid stop. The plough has cut a swathe across rows of neatly turned earth. Part of me thinks 'I'll have to do those again'. Most of me is in shock.
It's a good day to visit the New London archives. Cool passageways offer relief from the blistering heat outside. Emma feels a tingle of excitement as she approaches the Survivors' Diaries section. She’s had the genetic genealogy results less than a day.