Sage

.

As old as the desert's parched earth. Timeless. The crisscrossing cracks on her face hide as much as they reveal - hardships, sorrows and laughter of an ordinary life. Her eyebrows raised, enquiring, trusting, her eyes narrowed to wrinkled slits to avoid the sun, her toothless smile encouraging, she's almost confident.

He speaks softly to her to dispel her doubts. She thinks to re-arrange the dry tufts of silver hair escaping from her worn woollen cap, but neglects the disarray of the layers and layers of her clothes. She's more than just a little interested in this man who gently insists on taking her photographs. She doesn't care that perhaps she will never see them printed.

He induces her to pose for him. She folds her work-hardened hands in a universal "namaste", hoping to communicate where language and culture stand like insurmountable barriers between them.

.