This is the house where my father was born and grown up. It was built in the 19th century, noone knows exactly when, by the grandpa of my grandpa. It was renovated some years ago but, for most of the time, nobody lives there. I visited it some days ago and, although now it is different from what it used to be when I was a child, the feeling, the «aura», remained the same. It was a rainy day and the light was coming in from the small windows, the same light from my child memories. In fact, only the light and the external walls were the same, almost everything else was different… the furniture, the inner walls, the floor. However, this light was there from the past. It was the same light that the grandpa of my grandpa was seeing when he lived there. Although I was not planning to take any photos, suddenly I wanted to capture it. I didn’t turn on the light bulbs because their light was different from the one of my memories, it was like a noise. I set up my camera and captured the light from my memories. I was there with my light, the silence and my memories. A magical moment.