On the lawn at Flagstaff Gardens they sit,
shoes pressed into winter-worn grass,
a paper plate balanced between them,
food eaten slowly, deliberately,
as if the afternoon has nowhere else to be.
Behind them, tents rise in pale triangles,
voices blur into a low, human weather,
children drift past in small constellations,
their movement light, unanchored,
already leaving the frame.
The man leans forward with his drink,
listening as much as speaking.
The woman breaks bread with her fingers,
eyes lowered, attentive to the moment,
to what fits neatly in her hands.
No monument intrudes, no skyline insists.
Just a city pausing on the grass—
lunch, conversation, passing feet—
life arranged briefly,
and then allowed to move on.
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FE 135mm f1.8 GM
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