The abandoned architecture of my childhood has been in my thoughts for a while now. I don’t know why. Nostalgia isn’t quite the answer: it’s something more. The shacks, wells, and stone structures are left alone in nature. There are so many memories here I can feel it.

What’s next, she said.

Go to the same place once a month for a year and see the changes.

I watched a film full of apocalyptic wind. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if the wind was in the film or outside the window.

I drove two hours to get here. The scent of ferns puts my mind to rest but brings me back to my childhood. And suddenly I am made aware of my body and the burden of objects. And my mind is heavy in a sensory world.

The feeling of holding lukewarm water in my mouth before swallowing. The need to connect with others. Isolation after a loss. I had to put those photographs in the attic (where the ghost lives).