In Flagstaff Garden,
colour has slipped away—
leaving only the hush
of black and white.
A woman in traditional Mexican dress
moves like a soft echo
from another time.
Her embroidered skirt,
no longer bright,
unfurls in shades of cloud and ink.
She holds a cup with both hands,
its pale rim catching
a thin silver glint of light.
Every step she takes
sends a quiet ripple
through the grayscale air
a dance made of shadows,
memory, and breath.
The festival hum fades
to a distant murmur,
as if the world is listening
through old film grain.
Pigeons lift like smudged brushstrokes,
trees stand in charcoal stillness.
And she
she becomes the single moving spark
in this monochrome garden,
turning the absence of colour
into its own kind of beauty,
a dance that glows softly
in the language of dusk
and silver rain.
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FE 50mm f1.2 GM
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