The kettle whistling for the third time,

The Story Behind This Image

The Third Whistle

The kettle has whistled three times now. Each time she lifted it off the flame, poured for two, and set his cup on the far side of the table to cool — the way he likes it, drinkable, not scalding. Each time the tea went cold. She reheats it anyway. Hope, she has learned, is mostly reheating.

Palm Against the Glass

She stands at the old cafe's fogged window in a cream knit top and plaid skirt, long braid falling over one shoulder, one palm pressed flat against the rain-streaked glass as if she could feel the street through it. Outside, dense fog swallows everything past the kerb; pale dawn light seeps through it like a rumour. Her reflection and the fog overlap until she can't tell which one is waiting. Her lips hold the ghost of a smile — not happiness, exactly. Anticipation, which is happiness refusing to give up.

• Pose: Side profile at the window, one palm pressed to the rain-streaked glass.
• Photography: Vertical 4:5 cinematic portrait, condensation and rain trails sharp on the glass.
• Mood: Passionate — hope that stays.