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Portrait of my beautiful son , sleeping. 3.22.22

The only time the boy is still is when he is asleep, and then he is all lashes and red cheeks, a dimpled chin like his Father and the aquiline Roman nose of his Mother. During the daylight hours he is all dirt, rocks and bugs stuffed in pockets, wooden swords, and all his pants have rips at the knee. He is full of wonder and craves new things to obsess over, be it wolves, or leshen, sonic, the witcher, magic spells. He has a briefcase stuffed with private notes, receipts, cutouts of animals, small feathers, ribbons, stamps, notebooks, treasures. Our Winter boy . The little vampire who made me a Mother.