The service has just ended and a solitary figure walks slowly, weeping, from the church in Matera in the south of Italy:
She scatters the pigeons as she walks, oblivious to them.
A male is strutting and making his advances:
He makes himself taller and puffs out the iridescent feathers on his neck.
The square hums with the sound of traffic and birdsong. I look back and she has gone.