We’re in a forest and water is moving hard behind them. They must be on a bridge, but you can’t tell that because the photo cuts off at their knees. So instead, they hover. A couple of Jesus-es. Water walking, bread breaking, self-less love giving.
With that staff he’s holding, he actually looks a little like Jesus. It’s not actually a staff, it’s a walking stick, but he grips it so hard he looks like he’s leading Jews out of Israel.
Like the way he grips her.
We only see one of her arms. It’s the one with the faintest glimmer of a wedding ring on it. Or, if there is no ring, it’s like it’s foreshadowing a ring. Oh ghost ring that knows so much, why can’t you also predict her untimely death, struck down by a drunk, blackness coming on faster than an angry night can push the sun.
He stares so seriously at the camera. The shadows on the right side of his face form deep pools for his eyes to swim in.
Too many shadows for such a bright day.
She left him, you know. Or did he leave her? They left each other, but then he won her back. Felt the love thing clawing at him, like so much doom and destiny. Nails ripping right down the back.
They’re so far over to the left they’re almost falling out of the shot, but his staff holds steady and they stand and stare. Not seeing the whitecaps behind them. The rushing, snickering thing just beginning to lap at their heels. The biting mite that will nibble his memory away so that he can’t even remember he had a wife. And is she dead or alive? And did he kill her? He brought her here, didn’t he? Isn’t that like killing her?
But no more of this. The photo shows a striped and sunny day.
While we may linger for a while, our couple’s there to stay.