During a storytelling workshop in Austin, Texas, I wandered through one of the most magical places I've ever photographed. While others were naturally drawn to its obvious beauty, I found myself returning again and again to a weathered piano quietly tucked beneath the trees.
Lanterns hung overhead as though inviting a forgotten fairy ball to begin. Vines curled around the remnants of another life, slowly reclaiming what time had left behind. Every key seemed to be becoming something new - not withered or forgotten, but transformed into something quietly poetic, perfectly beautiful for this moment and whatever came next.
I wandered from one enchanted corner to another with this glorious red-haired girl, lingering in places that seemed to ask us to slow down. As she moved through the light, it almost felt as though the piano had begun to play again. For just a moment, time became wonderfully unimportant.
Perhaps that's what forgotten places offer us.
Not nostalgia.
Not sadness.
Perspective.
There is magic in broken things.
There is beauty in places still being reclaimed.
And perhaps there is something in us longing for that same kind of restoration.
Sitting among the overgrowth, watching nature gently gather everything back into itself, I realized that perfection has never been the goal.
The goal is to see.
To slow down.
To notice.
To celebrate all that has been, all that is, and all that is still becoming.
Because perhaps a life isn't measured by how perfectly we walked through it...
...but by whether we recognized its beauty while we were there.
Maybe nothing is ever truly forgotten.
