Winter Sun and Herringbone
A cold, bright January day. Curls, a full beard, a herringbone jacket and a pin on the lapel — a brother who wears his beard like a signature.
January light is thin, but when it lands, it lands softly. We met on a quiet street of white townhouses and black railings — the kind of street that makes everyone stand a little straighter.
He arrived in a herringbone jacket with a bright knit underneath, a small pin on the lapel and an umbrella hooked in his hand, just in case. The beard and the curls did the rest.
We walked, stopped, talked, and walked again. Every few steps the sun found him through the bare trees. Portraits like these aren’t posed so much as collected — a laugh here, a glance there.
A beard is a signature. Some write it quietly. Some, like him, sign in capital letters.