Signs of a life; a weekend in a house I didn’t know, the property of people I hadn’t met.
Although we aren’t what we own or possess, gathered belongings undeniably leave an impression.
An impression of time spent, time enjoyed.
Yet when this time ends, is tidied and sorted there still remains a breathe, a breathe that tells us much. This tale is the last chapter read, the next, the page unturned. A house, a home, a life