The Weight of Stone

I remember a set of stairs in a village near the border where the stone was worn smooth by three generations of restless feet. An old woman sat there one Tuesday, shelling peas into a tin bowl, her hands moving with a rhythm that had nothing to do with the ticking of a clock. She told me that the house didn’t belong to her, but that she belonged to the house. It was a strange distinction, but standing there, watching the way the shadows clung to the masonry, I knew exactly what she meant. We spend our lives trying to leave a mark on the world, carving our names into things or building monuments to our own importance. Yet, there is a quiet, enduring dignity in simply being the person who sits on the step, holding the history of the place in the stillness of a single afternoon. Does the architecture hold us, or are we the ones keeping the walls from falling down?

Moslem Azimi has captured this exact feeling in the beautiful image titled On the Stairs. It is a quiet reminder of how we are all tethered to the places that shape us. Does this scene remind you of a home you once knew?