Tom Langlands Photography Blog

I opened the door and walked pensively toward the single bed. There I laid down my holdall and surveyed the room. The wallpaper was different but the furniture was more or less as I recalled. It seemed dark but then it lacked the toys strewn around the floor that coloured my memory. I crossed the threadbare carpet to the window dodging the ghosts of model planes hanging from the ceiling with fishing nylon. Leaning my forehead against the wooden frame across the middle of the old sash and case window I peered through the drops of rain to the garden below. It seemed smaller than I remembered.  The wind blew the tulips that she had planted last autumn and their bright red heads bowed in a gesture of sadness at her passing. It was cold but not unseasonably so. I could feel the draught on my face as the wind searched out every gap around the window. It had four panes of glass - two in the top sash and two in the bottom. The glass was old and imperfect giving a distorted view of the world be