I found this photograph on a rainy morning around a year ago. Every now and then I find it amongst other treasure of mine and I stop and think about the woman in the picture. I love the way that her hand is curving round to hold her handbag in place. My mother used to do this too. I sometimes worry for the woman in this picture, I wonder what her connection was to the house, to the car. I sense that this is not her home, that this is a place that she is not completely at ease. Perhaps she came here to visit her sister, perhaps they had grown apart and she at the last minute had grabbed her keys and her bag and driven here for an impromptu visit. Perhaps the house belonged to her Aunty Penny, the Aunt that had remained a spinster and that cared more for animals than people but now as she grew older wanted someone to care for her, to visit her, desiring someone to leave her ample home to. Perhaps as her and her beloved were driving by this house on one of their week-end jaunts, they decided to reverse the car after seeing the house of their dreams. Perhaps after looking and listening out they realized that no one was home and so staged a photo of standing outside their dream house. Perhaps this is a farewell photograph, saying goodbye to the house that she knew she would never again return to.
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