Attic / 2025

The attic of the old house was silent, broken only by the cracking of old boards underfoot. Here, time seemed to wrap everything in a single ball of dust and memories.

The spinning wheel, with its graceful forms, stood in the corner, entwined with cobwebs. Its wooden parts concealed the stories of women who once sat next to each other, creating fibers for the future.

Sunbeams broke through the dust and dirty roof of the attic, as if inviting a return to the world of joy and warmth. Forgotten Christmas tree decorations glittered from an old box in the corner, soaked in the smell of dust and memories. They quietly kept the secrets of past holidays, when each New Year brought joy, light and magic. Some of them were split, with cracks, as if reflecting the moments lived through, echoes of children's laughter and the flickering lights of garlands. Their brilliant hues gradually faded, but still retained light notes of their former beauty.