I thought I’d share something from way back—about 10 years ago. I’ve been digging through old photos and half-forgotten projects, the kind that have been hiding on dusty hard drives and in random folders with names like “final_FINAL2.” It’s funny how a single picture can pull you right back into a moment: where you were, what the light felt like, even the mood of that day. Going through these old shots has been a mix of cringe, nostalgia, and a little bit of pride, and I figured it might be nice to bring a few of those memories back to life here.
I was walking past our neighbor’s place when this scene just stopped me in my tracks. The old, weathered wooden house is framed through a big tree trunk in the foreground so the whole view feels a bit hidden and layered, like you’re gently peeking into a quiet memory. In the middle window sits my namesake in her green top and glasses, beside a little table lamp and a potted plant, exactly as I remember her. All around the house, the autumn branches, dry grasses, and warm brown-orange leaves wrap the building in this soft, faded kind of beauty, and the sunlight throws strong shadows on the gray vertical siding. The whole moment feels tender and nostalgic—she’s no longer with us, but her presence lingers there, carried forward with love by her granddaughter who now calls this place home.
Poem
she used to sit there, lamp on, plant beside her, glasses catching light.
autumn doesn’t explain itself. it just turns things golden and lets them go.
For Ludwig’s Monday Window, hosted this week by PR.
