The full length mirror on the closet door in my guest room is hazy. It's difficult to have a clear vision of what you are trying to see. But I like it, because I believe it is original to this house -- as well as the door and hinges that hold it, the glass knob that unlatches it, and the wooden floor beneath it.
The vision I like is in my mind: Over the past 80 years, who stood reflected in this very same mirror? Who stood on these very same wooden boards, and grasped this same beautiful glass door knob?
These small actions are actions that took place in exactly the same manner that I do them today -- I likely take the same natural step backward as the door swings in the same arc it's always done, just as others before me.
Often I take a moment when I'm here, reaching into this closet for something mundane, to pay homage to those who lived in this house before me. It makes the history here rich and alive.
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