Waiting

I look at my watch. Still no sign of him. I pull my knees closer to my chest and huddle against the wall looking for some protection from the cold. April in Paris can be surprisingly cold. Much colder than London. He said one forty. It’s now two.

A man in a black jacket jumps up on to the wall. Is it him? I wonder. Should I say something? He does not look at me. Perhaps this is a popular meeting spot. After all I do not know Paris. I am sure that I would recognise Pierre. How could I not? After our endless conversations, late into the night,  I feel I know him like the back of my hand.

The wait is long, my dream
of you never ends.
~ Nuala O'Faolain

As time passes I begin to wonder if Pierre is in fact the man sitting beside me but his face is turned. I whisper his name but he does not turn.  Surely he would have recognised me by now. I take out my phone and read the last email exchange between us. I can’t help but blush. Yes I see that I have the time and the place right.  But my heart starts to sink– perhaps he will not come after all.

*

I have waited so long for this moment. To finally be able to meet Sarah, the woman of my dreams. I wonder if she will look the same as in her pictures?  We agreed one forty but she is not here yet. I hope she has not gotten cold feet. Perhaps I should have eaten first, my stomach reminds me that it is past my usual lunch time. But I wanted to show her Chez Michel, quite possibly the most romantic restaurant in the ninth arrondissement.

I look at my watch again and then over at the woman sitting next to me, or should I say teenager. She looks to be at that awkward age, she has not even learned how to sit yet.

Another half hour passes and I begin to wonder who the young girl is waiting for. A horrifying thought crosses my mind but I dismiss it fast enough. Instead I take my 

                                                                                                mobile phone out of my pocket and dial her number. 

About the photo: Its been taken across the road from the Notre Dame, two strangers lost in their own world.

Beauty

“Einee minee miney mo!” Lorraine jabbed her fat fingers at us as we stood there on the platform, shivering in our swimming costumes.

“Your turn!” She said looking at me straight in the eye, registering my fear.

“Don’t show her your fear.” Karen had whispered to me as we all walked down to the platform. But it was too late now, Lorraine had already seen it.

Feelings are much like waves, 
we can't stop them from coming
but we can choose which one to surf.       

~Jonatan Mårtensson

I stood on the metal grill, which was warming up in the sun. No longer shivering with cold but I was nervous. I edged forward so that only my toes were off the platform. Wriggling them I peered into the aqua abyss looking for a way out. I had only just leaned to swim. I squinted towards the shore hoping to locate my mother but I could not see much. It was the other children and me abandoned by our parents, glad that there were enough of us to keep ourselves entertained.

“What’s the matter? Are you afraid? If you’re scared just say so. You don’t have to jump, but then everyone will know you are a scaredy cat and then you can’t be a member of our club anymore. We can’t have a scaredy cat in the Invincibles.” I weighed up my options as Lorraine started to count down, “Ten… Nine… Eight…Seven…”

And then I jumped. The water was warm but it dragged me down filling my nostrils and mouth with salt water. I used the strength of my body to pull myself up back to the surface and gasped for air. The others in the cave were silent. I panicked. I thought that something must be wrong. But then I heard cheering, whooping and clapping. I opened my eyes and wiped the salt water from my face, beaming at my new friends. 


I found my confidence and swam out, away from the noise of the other children. Looking out from the other side of the cove, it was a peaceful and beautiful setting and the view looked completely different from when I was inside the cave. I knew then what beauty was.

About the photo: This photo was taken at the bottom of the gorge in Ronda, Spain. It was actually quite eerie, having come down several hundred feet by following stone steps down a dark and wet building. The opening in the photograph was the only breathing space and the beautiful view of the water through it made the journey down worthwhile.

The Red Poppy

The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month – I stood as still as I could my head bowed in respect for those who had given their lives. Lest we forget…

Your intellect may be confused, but your emotions will never lie to you.  
~ Roger Ebert

A trumpet signaled the end of those two minutes. Our parade had stopped and now we were starting to march again; our feet keeping up with the thud of the drum. A flicker of light had caught my eye averting my gaze away from the rest of the band: The light reflection of a silver watch on the wrist of the man dressed in black. All black - except for his red poppy.

The man unnerved me. Maybe it was the way he was walking: with his back stooped that way, had he been injured in war? Or maybe it was the pain in his eyes. His poppy stood out. It made me think of the real poppies, the ones that had bloomed in the trenches of Flanders all those years ago in the Great War. But we marched on ahead and when I turned around, I no longer saw the hunched man with the pained expression.

Later when the police questioned us, Millie said she saw him too: his deep red poppy, the colour of blood. Nobody saw the sniper. Nobody heard the shot. I can’t help wonder if the sound of the trumpet drowned it out. I guess I will never know.

About the photo: This was a Help for Heroes event in Oxford along Cornmarket Street and the expression on the young particpants' faces due to the audience was absolutely worth capturing on camera. The GAP shopfront proved to be a perfect contrasting background.

Tomorrow is Another Day

Dusk settled across the river Thames. Alice emerges from the narrowboat holding a mug of hot chocolate in her pink mittens, which clashes with her green woolly hat. A thick grey scarf her mother gave to her last Christmas is wrapped tightly around her neck to keep the cold out, but her feet are bare. Alice has never felt the cold on her feet. She takes in the quiet evening, the receding sound of the birdsong and the stillness of the water. Behind her there is a limestone bridge – her old existence.

Alice takes a deep breath. The cool evening air fills her with hope. Hope that tomorrow will be another day - a new day – the first day of the rest of her life. The violence of the past is behind her now. No longer will she feel the pain of a fist against an already bruised cheek, the sound of her own bones cracking under her soft pulpy flesh.

“Ally” she hears her name being called from the cabin. Softly she pads back into the warmth of the narrowboat, putting down her mug settling down next to her lover, with her head buried into his chest. A position they are both becoming accustomed to. “So do we stop here? Or do you want to keep on moving?” he asks her gently.

Alice looks through the window beyond the starboard towards the rolling hills of Oxfordshire. “Lets stay here a while,” she answers; a smile forming on her lips, “Lets call this home.”

The sole art that suits me is that which, rising from unrest, tends toward serenity.
~ Andre Gide

About the photo: This photo was taken on a very chilly evening in November 2010 at Port Meadow, Oxford. The colours in the sky and the stillness of the water made it a very idylllic scene.

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.