When my sister was little, I would tell her stories about the ghost who inhabited our room. These tales made her squeal with fear, but I rather imagined our ghost, Miriam, to be the kind, friendly sort of ghost. She was a steadfast friend who knew her way around our new house, our new state, our new school, our new life. She had already lived her life; she had the ability to offer all sorts of helpful guidance. I imagine that the grainy quality of this photo is just Miriam passing by the window to peer at the setting sun outside.