I discovered today, while searching through old archived photos, a snippet of our house.

To the left of the synagogue, just peeking into frame, is our porch.

I delighted to see it.

Felt my heart skip a beat.

Felt grounded to the present by this connection to the past.

In a world where newer and bigger and brighter is better; my heart beats in black and white.

It clings to the old, the forgotten, the long ago days.

In a world where nothing is certain, the past remains steadfast and sealed.

And sometimes, although it knows forward is the correct direction, the weary, uncertain soul, seeks out the comfort of the solid, proven ground of the past and finds refuge in the background that could have easily been cropped out.