Some homes are loved and then forgotten. They become houses, shells of their former selves, missing that energy that once filled their rooms. Still their walls stand not as a marker of loss but as a sentry to the memories held within them. One day you might pass such a house. It will be old and look run down and there will be a tree in the garden overreaching the pavement. You may pause to look at it or you may just pass it by. If you do look you might see the hint of a figure sitting by the window just under the roof. This is a book about her, and the house. A small collection of memories teetering just at the edge of our conscious mind, wishing to be remembered.