I love walking the streets of history-filled cities and looking at aged walls and the old doors and windows within them. I find these architectural features interesting aesthetically, as they are often covered by many layers of paint or patches. I often wonder about the lives these silent witnesses saw, about the generations of people who lived behind them. Who walked through these doors?, I wonder; Who opened and closed these windows? Sometimes there is an open crack in a door, or a window is left unclosed, allowing a quick peek into the lives that currently hide beyond. Sometimes everything is shut, leaving room for the imagination.
My family and I recently visited Israel, where old neighborhoods abound. There, I found myself surrounded by the beauty of the past.
These windows, for example, peeked at me from walls in the old city of Jerusalem, walls covered with Jerusalem stone:
And in the Lower Galilee I admired old buildings in the Circassian village of Kafr Kama, where the houses are built from black basalt rock:
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