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EВРОПЕЙСКИ ФОТО ФЕСТИВАЛ - EUROPEAN PHOTO FESTIVAL

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The Place Called Childhood

It’s always like that. When the snow starts falling the memories keep flowing. I watch the kids joyfully playing just like I did back there, in the place called childhood. In that place my feet are soaking wet and I’m sliding down the hill on a piece of nylon given to me by Grandma. Slidings of memory.

I take pictures in the present but the images are those of the past, of that place called childhood where snow is just an emulation of crystal-white nostalgia.

Childhood is the place where memories are snow.