Finding the family tree

Put away in the attic, there is a cardboard box; and in the box, there is a photograph; and in the photograph is a secret. No shutter fast enough to capture it. No dark room that could process it. Something that could never be shrunk to a 3:2 aspect ratio. We’re in pursuit of time travel; finding places made for the inner child, for sitting cross-legged with sister in the garden, and – with any luck – arriving to mum and dad waving in the doorway. One of life’s great nostalgias is rooted in a falsehood. You can go home again.