My lovely, Iranian-born friend. In our many-year friendship, I’ve never seen her in a headscarf, so I was hesitant to ask her to put one on. In fact, I didn’t. She offered. And when she did, her eyes lit with such beauty it made me cry. She had a whole basket of them, all different colors. I asked her if she’d let me photograph her in one that means the most to her. Generously, lovingly she donned the last scarf her mother was able to shop for on her own, a soft, grey knit with flower detail and colorful fringe.

There is a bit of home in all of us, regardless of where we are or where we’re from. And we always return, if only in our minds, to as Majid Naficy says, “stand on my rooftop and pick stars.”



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