As long as I have photographed, I have recorded the scenery from my windows. I have photos from a very young age with the view from my room, or our living room, or veranda. Just the view, nothing special, not even a spectacular sunset (although I have some of those, too), or anything happening out there. Just that scene, those trees, houses, that hill. There is such beauty in that, in the ordinary, and it is completely paired with the love I feel for the house I live in. Those two things go together. And the strange thing is, when I think back upon a house or a flat I have lived in, it is the view from the windows I think of first, that frame, of the window and what it surrounds.
In the cities I've lived, I have photographed roofs, chimneys and sky, pigeons sitting on the edge of the buildings, lights in the windows across the street, things like that. When I was little and lived with my parents, I photographed the hill across the valley a lot - in my eyes it always looked like a gorilla's head in profile (I have to go and see that again, soon). And here, I have photographed the trees and land that surround the house. Our fields. The edge of the forest, with the little summer barn up there. The huge birch tree close to the house.
And tomorrow is the last day in this house, with this view. I'm on to new ones again, luckily not so far away, and hopefully the last move in a very long time. In fact, I will have this house as a part of my view now, and that's a sweet comfort. I kiss these views goodbye, thank you for being so beautiful.