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In the everyday bustle of market day, something unexpected happened. I got my shot.
It rained all night, but now the sun is shining. Warm rays fall on my face. For a few seconds, I close my eyes and enjoy the moment. When I open them, I see a group of women. They are walking toward me. Two of them are singing—or rather humming. The other two are clapping their hands. Then, they turn down an alley, carrying their melody with them. Their joy lingers on my skin.
Devant moi, dans l’allée parallèle au mur, deux hommes. Ils font des aller-retour entre ici et l’extérieur. Ils reviennent chargés de sac déposés sur leurs larges épaules. C’est le moment que j’espérais. Leur présence est-elle le fruit du hasard ? Peu importe, je m’installe me concentre.
I’ve got my shot.
The curtain shifts; a hand pushes it aside as the man steps out, indifferent to my presence. He walks forward, then turns toward me. Over his right shoulder, he carries a sack stuffed with vegetables. In spots where the fabric is torn, green stems poke out like the heads of curious children. I press the shutter and capture the moment. The farmer turns the corner and vanishes, swallowed by the dense crowd.
In the everyday rhythm of market day, something unexpected has occurred.
