By Albert Park Lake in Melbourne’s chill,
a young chap stood, poised and still
man bun tight, a Viking’s air,
the morning light caught in his hair.
In his hands, a slender staff—
at either end, twin circles laughed,
spinning, flashing, slicing air,
a dance of metal, bold and rare.
He moved with rhythm, fierce and free,
each turn a whispered melody,
the lake reflected sky and flame,
and he—untamed—without a name.
Joggers slowed, the breeze grew keen,
the water shimmered, silver-green;
the blades kept turning, wild delight
a Norse ghost playing in the light.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 993
