On A Sunday Morning

The first thing that caught my attention was the scene immersed in tones of blue. The walls, the man's shirt. Then there were the strong contrasts between light and shadows, the sunlight coming up from a steep side-street and invading the scene. 
While I was trying to find the perfect frame a white head appeared beneath the man leaning against the house. I didn't have much time to think and released the shutter. I don't know why she's slightly out of focus, while the rest is not. She wasn't moving fast. Maybe she wasn't really there. Maybe she was only a vision, an apparition from the man's past, a memory of his first love in his childhood, when he would lean against that house and wait for his love to come up the street. Both, the man and his memory, have grown older. 
But he still finds himself unable to summon the courage to talk to her. 
When I lowered the camera, she was gone.