Inside the chapel time no longer passes in seconds and minutes. It passes in intervals of silence between the thick sound of wind from two directions and the clink-boom of a large metal door handle. Varying colors of earth soak the walls, dancing and bleeding under the supervision of a small burst of sky struggling to stay confined to the inner edges of the oculus above.
At this moment many things are visible; glass bulbs plugged into holes left behind by concrete formwork, a delicate and rugged statue of the peacemaker patron saint upon his strong and thin pedestal, prayer candles that flicker orange from the small, metal sandbox floating just off the wall. These details so familiar to us in photograph are all just tiny distractions muffled by the wind and the coming and going of other visitors. You wait for the silence to shut everything off.
Time passes until your gaze is redirected from the sky to the ground, where all you see is a puddle of water left over from last night's rain resting peacefully in its designated groove. Small yellowed debris slowly swirl together, guided not by the powerful gusts of specific winds but by a silent whisper that gently leads the small pieces of grass and brush through the untroubled water. You are lost in the movement for only a moment, joined by the whisper to all other things around you. Suddenly the gusts pick up again and the door handle clangs to announce a new visitor. Time passes as you stay and wait for the next interval of silence.