What is it About Withered, Old Windows...?

What is it about withered, old windows? I have found them mysteriously alluring for as long as I can remember. Quietly they sit, like sentinels - both of this world, and yet, somehow, not - watching the inexorable rhythms of time gently lap the timeless shores of distant memories.


I imagine, in my mind's eye, strange Borgesian universes lurking within the shadows, and magical worlds inhabiting the space beyond. Are the individual panes of glass mere placeholders, I wonder - random filters that diffuse and distort what is really there - or are they portals to other realities and realms of being?


What magical stories of life and truth these windows could share, if only there were ears to hear - and souls to understand - their long-forgotten language. Still, when all is quiet, and the light yields to darkness, faint whispers of a living past can sometimes be heard...with a camera.