ALLAN KLIGER
In the Presence

Istanbul. She was running late for church. As she ran through the streets she kept looking at me, curious about the man with the camera. Turning a corner, the aged wooden doorway to the church beckoned her to enter. She slid off her shoes and walked into the courtyard, finding a place by an old and weathered tree, a place warmed by the morning sun. Closing her eyes she settled in, letting the hymns wash over her, oblivious to the shadow of the cross which fell on her.

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