Childhood Memories 13 - Dar. (Digital Download - 4000 X 6000 Pix)
There was always something about the way houses sat on cliffs in the villages of Lebanon, like they belonged there for centuries, even if they’d only been around a few decades. This one in the picture takes me right back.
I remember walking by homes like this, perched at the edge of everything, with the wind tugging at the grass and the scent of pine in the air. The white walls, faded but proud, and the warm red roof tiles, chipped in places but still holding tight. The greens of the trees would almost swallow the house whole, except for those little windows peeking through, watching the world quietly.
It felt like these houses carried stories, silent witnesses to generations coming and going. I used to imagine who might live there, or if no one did, what it would feel like to sit on the edge of that cliff, legs dangling, listening to the birds in the distance.
There’s a softness in the colors here… that washed-out, earthy palette that reminds me of long summers and slow afternoons. It’s the kind of image that stirs up nostalgia, not just for the places we’ve been, but for the feeling of belonging somewhere quiet and simple.
There was always something about the way houses sat on cliffs in the villages of Lebanon, like they belonged there for centuries, even if they’d only been around a few decades. This one in the picture takes me right back.
I remember walking by homes like this, perched at the edge of everything, with the wind tugging at the grass and the scent of pine in the air. The white walls, faded but proud, and the warm red roof tiles, chipped in places but still holding tight. The greens of the trees would almost swallow the house whole, except for those little windows peeking through, watching the world quietly.
It felt like these houses carried stories, silent witnesses to generations coming and going. I used to imagine who might live there, or if no one did, what it would feel like to sit on the edge of that cliff, legs dangling, listening to the birds in the distance.
There’s a softness in the colors here… that washed-out, earthy palette that reminds me of long summers and slow afternoons. It’s the kind of image that stirs up nostalgia, not just for the places we’ve been, but for the feeling of belonging somewhere quiet and simple.
There was always something about the way houses sat on cliffs in the villages of Lebanon, like they belonged there for centuries, even if they’d only been around a few decades. This one in the picture takes me right back.
I remember walking by homes like this, perched at the edge of everything, with the wind tugging at the grass and the scent of pine in the air. The white walls, faded but proud, and the warm red roof tiles, chipped in places but still holding tight. The greens of the trees would almost swallow the house whole, except for those little windows peeking through, watching the world quietly.
It felt like these houses carried stories, silent witnesses to generations coming and going. I used to imagine who might live there, or if no one did, what it would feel like to sit on the edge of that cliff, legs dangling, listening to the birds in the distance.
There’s a softness in the colors here… that washed-out, earthy palette that reminds me of long summers and slow afternoons. It’s the kind of image that stirs up nostalgia, not just for the places we’ve been, but for the feeling of belonging somewhere quiet and simple.
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