Melbourne Candid Series #1221 Flagstaff Garden

 

Along the gravel paths of Flagstaff’s green,
Where summer fairs dissolve in muted sound,
He walks alone, though never quite unseen,
A fixed point while the crowd moves all around.

Dark lenses guard his eyes from open view,
As if the day were brighter than it seems;
His gaze turned inward, thoughtful, stern, and true,
Attentive more to weight than passing gleams.
The checked shirt hangs with workman’s quiet ease,
Plain cloth that knows the language of the day,
Unbothered by the tents, the hum, the breeze,
Or idle talk that drifts and slips away.

Behind him, faces blur to softened shade,
Their gestures half-considered, quickly spent;
They come and go like marks the feet have made
Upon the grass, erased as soon as meant.
Yet he remains, a figure set in pause,
As though the moment asked him to endure
A witness to no spectacle or cause,
But simply to the act of being sure.

Thus Flagstaff Gardens keeps him in its care
Not hero, nor observer raised above,
But one still centre in the breathing air,
Where crowds pass on, and solitude holds love.

Sony A7RV

FE 135mm f1.8 GM

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