He asked, “What remains when you leave a room?” Pausing a moment to reflect, she replied quietly, “An impression of me.”
I recalled this exchange looking at an abandoned home in the area past Goleta that was once called Naples. Imagining a growing family, adding on rooms. The father building a picket fence to form a permeable boundary for children, a dog, and perhaps some chickens. Now it stands alone and forgotten. Those close bonds of kinship stretched by miles and time, some or all perhaps severed by fate. Only this impression of them remains.
0881 Impression of Home
John & Anne Wiley 
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