Hallelujah Foal
I scoff, pooh-pooh at the legionsof camera-roll pictures of your children. Willy-nilly they’ve run amok—chomping sand,chomping the bit,sculpting crenellated towers(with baby teeth missing) to say: my God,this is my mother. Look at her. I have driven myself too,a motherless horsestraining at the bit. I have stood on the windlass pondasking for a cracked moonaxed through…