the past and the present, and always, the future. Life, and death. Women, men and children. Relationships, decisions, the attics and courtyards of old houses, the head of the headless ghost rolling around on the roof. The woman who can get you a lime from the next room and never move. Beware of waking from deep sleep to hear your name being called, it'll sound like someone you know. They'll call thrice, and you must not answer. "There's no such thing as a ghost". I heard a story about that picture from my grandmother, but I forgot what it was. Sometimes, when you take the shortcut alone after dark, there are lights on in the far windows, but no one has lived there for years. The transmigration of the soul. Never, ever walk by that pond at night. Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it.