Last day of magic

text by Nigel

Photos by me

Does she sweat under all of that clothing? The sun is high, beating down on everything; Not the weather, one would think to wear an ankle-length black coat over your clothing and wrap your head in cloth. Does it frustrate her to dress such a way in public? Does she yearn for the private oasis of her home’s cool corners? Would she choose such attire if not for the hungry eyes of the men in the street and the moral judgment of her peers?

The rains passed long ago, where we had the cooling influence of green grass and blossoming flowers, now we have the dust and the memory of spring. Summer has arrived and the dried petals collect in the corners. They are parched after drinking too much of the sun.

The bags are packed and the taxi is coming. The occupations will still be here when we return: Concrete walls and razor wire occupy the body; society and religion, the mind; but neither can occupy the soul.

This post is dedicated to my friend Hossam
I terribly miss you
xxx