Abandoned House I took this photograph on my way home—although I have not had one fixed home for years. I travel from city to city, and over the past three years, I have moved between three places: Khormoj, Bushehr, and Shiraz. All three are home to me, though I have spent nearly ninety percent of that time living in Shiraz. That day, weary from the road, we suddenly noticed a dirt road branching away from the main route. A field of poppies stretched alongside it, and we followed the flowers. Everyone was lost in the sight of the poppies blooming across the hillsides and among the rocks. But in the distance, directly across from the field, I saw a large abandoned house. It was breathtakingly beautiful, forgotten among immense mountains and a field of poppies. Night was beginning to fall, and we had to leave. From the opposite hillside, standing amid the poppies, I quickly took a photograph of the house—but my thoughts remained there. I still think about it. What kind of place had it once been? It was not a school. Perhaps it was an old caravanserai, or the home of a large family. How many years ago had it been built? Had the people who lived there been happy? I know the answer to the final question: yes. Although the house was far away, I could deeply feel the happiness it once held. Its energy reached me with remarkable force. Whatever that place had been, and whoever had once lived there, they must have known a beautiful life. The green light in this image is entirely intentional. I used it to show that this is more than an abandoned house. A profound love once lived there—a love too deep to describe.