After a photo by Annie Leibovitz of Johnny Cash with his grandson Joseph, Rosanne Cash and June Carter Cash, Hiltons, Virginia, 2001 

It only takes a note, a few lines penned on a card, and the whole thing is salvaged. It might not say much – that’s the thing with postcards, you have to work with what little you’ve got – a dozen words on the back, a thousand in the picture: a man in his rocking chair on a verandah, looking; no, gazing; no, not even gazing; shining in the direction of his love, his wife, who, oblivious, holds her autoharp like a child to be soothed, a child who’s cut her knee or is overwrought. And there, on guitar, the man’s daughter, brow creased in concentration or mild irritation; next to the man, his grandson – the living proof it can, it will, it does work out.