Tears

Ever has it been that love knows not its
 own depth until the hour of separation. 
~ Kahlil Gibran

The midday sun was strong, beating down on Clara’s back. She took shelter outside an old church just as she was approaching her home town of Toledo tired from the long trip she had taken from Madrid. Clara rubbed her feet as her body absorbed the cool of the marble - and then she heard them sing.

The doors were shut and Clara was too timid to intrude on the Mass. She didn’t want their eyes to turn towards her as the heavy wooden door creaked open. So instead she listened from her seat outside. The hymn was familiar, a song from her wedding, Dulce Comunion. Clara started humming along with the choir inside until her eyelids grew heavy with sleep.

Moments later people started leaving the church. A tall gentleman with a walking stick put four euros next to her feet just as she opened her eyes.

“Non Señor,” she called out as soon as she had realised what had happened but he had gone. Gently Clara rose to her feet. They were still sore from her long journey and her muscles ached. She looked at her watch, she didn’t know why. Time didn’t really mean anything to her anymore. Her days only consisted of an endless wait. A wait for Salvo and Rico. Whilst the congregation gathered on the pavement outside the street in their Sunday best, chatting to their friends and showing off their children.

Clara quietly made her way to the front of the church where the candles lit up St Christopher. She dropped the four euros into the offerings box and lit three candles: one for her late husband and one for each of her sons. She fell to her knees and prayed that they would come back safely from war. Tears fell on the dusty tiles beneath her as she began to wail; her emotions overpowering her. A man put his arm around her and without thinking she turned and buried her head in his chest. Just as she had realised what she had done- her cheeks turning red with embarrassment, she sensed a familiarity. She drew in the scent of the man by her side before she pulled away. Looking at his face through bleary eyes a smile formed on her lips.

More tears began to fall but this time they were tears of joy. She could not speak but she held on to him for her life because she knew when she looked again he would be gone.

About the photo: The position of the lady sat at the entrance to the Church created a perfect composition. In the picture, I tried to capture her patience and stillness while she waited for the crowds to leave and ask for money. This was taken in Granada, Spain in December 2010.