She stands in Flagstaff Gardens,
painted bone upon her face,
eyes lowered as if listening
to something buried and old.
Feathers rise from her crown,
counting time in silent stripes.
Metal rests against her skin,
cold, deliberate, ceremonial.
Around her, the crowd blurs
witnesses without names.
Once this ground knew commands;
now it keeps secrets.
She has not moved yet,
but the garden already knows
she will.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1051
In Flagstaff Gardens, Melbourne,
on grass worn smooth by time and feet,
the dancer breaks the afternoon open.
Feathers arc from the crown
long, banded quills flung wide,
as if the wind itself were harnessed
and taught to keep formation.
Painted bone and hollowed eyes
fix the face in ritual calm,
death not as ending,
but as pattern and return.
An arm cuts forward, firm and exact,
the rattle clenched like a held heartbeat.
Metal plates flash across the chest,
each piece catching light,
each sound answering movement.
The body bends, advances, commands space
a geometry of step and stamp,
ancient in cadence, precise in force.
Behind, the crowd gathers into blur:
soft hats, folded arms, lifted phones,
modern shapes dissolving
into witness rather than presence.
They stand at the edge of the circle,
quieted by the seriousness of motion.
The garden holds it all
trees steady, paths attentive,
the city paused for a breath.
Once a parade ground, once a place of drills,
now it hosts another discipline:
dance as memory,
dance as declaration,
each movement inscribed briefly
into the air,
then gone.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1050
Beneath the old elms of Flagstaff Gardens,
where paths remember boots and decades,
they stand in still procession
faces pale as carved stone,
eyes lowered, solemn as bells before a toll.
Feathers rise from their crowns
like disciplined flames,
striped quills fanning the air,
catching the light that slips through branches.
Metal glints at brow and shoulder,
ornamented, deliberate, heavy with meaning.
Their painted faces speak without mouths:
circles for time, lines for fate,
flowers and bones intertwined.
No smile breaks the ritual calm;
each step is measured, each breath held
as though the garden itself were listening.
Behind them, the city softens
trees blur the noise,
history leans in quietly.
Once this ground watched soldiers drill,
now it bears witness to ceremony,
to borrowed myths and earnest reverence.
In black and white the moment settles:
not spectacle, but pause;
not performance, but presence.
Among lawns, monuments, and passing strangers,
they move like a memory made visible,
ancient in posture,
temporary as the afternoon light.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1049
A man with cropped hair crosses the lawn,
his jacket held close against the day.
Flagstaff Gardens open around his steps,
grass pressed flat by the passing crowd.
Behind him stand the rubbish bins in line,
quiet, practical, and waiting.
Around him, hands are busy with food,
eyes lowered to plates or lifted to stalls.
No voice is raised above another.
Each person attends to a small purpose
a bite, a glance, a pause in walking.
He moves through it without remark,
one figure among many,
while the garden keeps the record
of feet, crumbs, and passing hours.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1048
A chap with cropped hair stands close to the grill,
hands hovering, unsure where to begin.
Smoke lifts in steady, pale spirals
from the barbecue at the Garden stand.
He leans in, studying meat and flame,
as though the task might explain itself
if watched long enough,
heat pressing gently at his face.
Beside him, a short statue of a lady stands,
fixed in bronze attention,
skirts held in permanent motion,
eyes cast forward, unmoved by scent or sound.
People pass, trays fill, tongs are lifted.
The garden hums with ordinary appetite.
Man and statue share the moment briefly
one learning the shape of the grill,
the other keeping time without change.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1047
He walks through Flagstaff Gardens at pace,
the grass worn flat by many feet.
A checked shirt hangs open at the chest,
dark cotton beneath, plain and unadorned.
Glasses rest above his brow, unused,
as though the light requires no softening.
His gaze is set ahead, not hurried,
not searching, simply moving on.
Behind him, others drift and turn,
faces half-seen, conversations unfinished.
White tents rise briefly in the background,
temporary markers of the day.
Nothing here declares an occasion.
It is an afternoon, a passage through space:
a man crossing a garden,
the city continuing around him.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out
Candid 1046 and FACE OFF
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.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1045
Flagstaff Gardens opens like a commons of pause,
grass worn smooth by agreement rather than rule.
Here, the city sets its weight down.
A small circle forms—plates held mid-air,
hands negotiating portions,
conversation leaning in, then back.
Food passes between them
as gently as trust.
One man counts bites with thought,
another waits, attentive to nothing urgent.
A coat hangs heavy with elsewhere,
while sneakers stay faithful to the ground.
Lunch becomes a ceremony without words.
Beyond them, bodies recline into the afternoon
laughter low, knees drawn up,
someone testing the sky by lying beneath it.
Portable loos line the distance like reminders
that even leisure must be managed.
Everything happens at once,
yet nothing competes.
This is Melbourne resting in public,
where strangers share grass,
time stretches just enough,
and the ordinary learns, briefly,
to be enough.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1044
In Flagstaff Gardens, the afternoon loosens its tie.
Light filters through plane trees,
falls in careful greys on shoulders and grass.
The city exhales here.
He stands mid-step, phone resting in his palm,
as if time has briefly asked for his attention.
Sunglasses hold the sky at a distance;
his gaze is elsewhere,
measuring nothing urgent.
Around him, life edits itself softly
a child’s hat tipped with stars,
cups raised, crumbs falling,
voices blurred into a single human weather.
Someone eats. Someone waits.
Someone remembers to look up.
The garden keeps its older knowledge:
that towers can pause,
that movement need not hurry.
Benches listen. Leaves annotate the air.
In this frame, nothing declares itself important,
yet everything belongs.
A man, a child, a crowd in passing
all briefly held
in the calm margin of Melbourne,
where the city practices being still.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1043
On Swanston Street, the light waits at amber,
a held breath between steps.
Trams murmur somewhere out of frame,
steel singing to steel,
while the city keeps time in crossings and bells.
He moves through the monochrome morning
as if the day has chosen him for its measure
hood drawn close, shoulders squared
against the ordinary weather of thought.
The word Nomadic rests on his chest,
not a claim, but a question.
Glass and stone blur behind him,
history smoothed to a soft hush.
Signals hang like small moons,
deciding nothing yet.
His stride answers for him:
forward, unhurried, exact.
This is Melbourne in a minor key
coffee steam lifting unseen,
lanes waking to their own names.
Each footfall writes a line
no map can keep.
And in the brief truce of the crossing,
before the city resumes its argument,
he carries a private horizon with him,
moving through Swanston Street
as if the street were moving too.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 1042
In the Flagstaff air, thin as prayer,
she lifts the offering high
a vessel catching sunlight,
a quiet bridge between earth and sky.
Feathers arc like spokes of memory,
her silver garments whispering
the names of those before her.
Around her, the crowd dissolves
into a single held breath,
as tradition rises
weightless, unwavering
in her outstretched hands.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1041
In Flagstaff’s thin high-desert air,
she moves with the gravity of an old world
silver garments catching the sun,
feathers fanning outward
like spokes of a remembered cosmos.
Her painted face is resolve and reverence,
a map of lineage etched in stark strokes,
each line a quiet invocation
to mountains, ancestors, and unseen spirits
gathered just beyond the crowd’s murmur.
She holds the vessel steady,
as though balancing past and present,
as though the liquid within
is not offering but memory
poured from generations
who danced before her
in other places, other centuries.
Around her, spectators fade to a soft blur;
their modern chatter recedes
beneath the drumbeat of ritual steps,
the rustle of regalia,
the breath of altars carried in motion.
In this moment,
Flagstaff becomes a small world turning:
dust rising, hearts listening,
culture alive in the precision of her posture,
the fierceness in her eyes,
and the echo of a people
refusing to be forgotten.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1040
She stands beneath a canopy of blurred light,
a figure half-in shadow, half-in bloom,
her painted face a quiet testament
to all the souls she carries in her voice.
The microphone rests loosely in her hand,
as though the song is not commanded
but coaxed from somewhere deep
a place where memory drifts like smoke.
Flowers crown her—soft, defiant
petals bright even in monochrome,
framing eyes that look past the living,
toward stories only the heart can hear.
In the hush between breaths
she becomes a bridge:
between sorrow and celebration,
between the weight of earth
and the lightness of release.
And the bokeh world behind her dissolves,
a constellation of quiet witnesses,
while she sings not to be seen
but to be felt
a single voice rising
through the tender dark.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1039
In Flagstaff Garden’s open air,
A chap stands dressed in suited flair
A crisp-cut rose, a classic hat,
But his painted face is more than that.
Mexican colours bloom in grace,
A festival dancing on his face,
Petal patterns, skulls of white,
A hint of day and edge of night.
Among the trees the city hums,
Yet he becomes the beat of drums,
A walking echo, bold and bright,
Of distant lands and candle light.
There in Melbourne’s gentle green,
Tradition shifts, alive, unseen—
A suited man, half myth, half art,
Carrying culture on his heart.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8
Check out Candid 1038
Three figures move in parallel lines,
A small parade of human kind
Two men, one girl, side by side,
Their steps in sync, their climates wide.
One shivers in a thin short skirt,
Bare legs braving the wandering breeze,
Another wrapped in winter’s dirt,
A fortress built of wool and sleeves.
The third walks easy, neither nor,
Just weather-ready, calm and plain,
A quiet witness at the core
Of this strange thermal daisy chain.
Three bodies tuned to different heat,
Three stories told in coats and skin
How curious that along one street,
The seasons shift from person to person within.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1037
A woman in tight-cut city stride,
Coffee warming one sure hand,
Her phone a glow she will not hide,
A compass she alone can understand.
She walks the street without a glance,
Skipping the world before her feet,
Lost in her screen’s unfolding dance,
Threading through the urban beat.
Traffic hums and footsteps blur,
Yet she moves on, absorbed, alone
A modern wanderer wrapped in her
Small bright kingdom of glass and phone
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1036
In Flagstaff Garden’s gentle shade,
A bald head gleams beneath the day,
Brush in hand, the artist sways,
Tracing colors where masks will play.
A Peking opera rises there,
Red and black upon pale skin,
Curved lines like whispers in the air,
Stories of warriors drawn within.
A mustache arches, bold, precise,
Shadowed against the garden’s green,
Each stroke a dance, each hue a slice
Of ancient theatre, alive, unseen.
Pedestrians pause, the city hums,
But time slows here, a quiet art,
Two souls converse with pigment drums,
And painted faces speak from heart.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1035
A painted face half-hidden
behind the swing of a woven bag
a quiet guardian of colour
in a monochrome world.
His eye, ringed in white spirals,
gleams like a secret lantern,
watching over rows of earrings
that fall like captured rain,
each bead a trembling note
of some remembered song.
The stall hums with movement
an arm reaching,
fingers brushing prices and patterns,
life blurring through the frame
while he remains still,
anchored in his small realm
of craft and calm.
Fabric hangs like a doorway
to another story,
threads dyed with the patience
of many hands.
And behind it all,
his masked face waits
both present and apart
as if he were woven too
from ritual, pigment, and silence,
a keeper of small beauties
in the drifting hush of the market.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1034
In the hush between drumbeats,
a dancer leans into the trembling air
silver tassels shivering along his shoulders
like a whispered prayer in metal.
Paint shadows his face,
a mask half-myth, half-memory,
as though he is stepping out of some older world
and borrowing our sunlight for a moment.
Around him, the crowd softens into blur
a ring of breath, of waiting,
their modern jackets folding quietly
against the ancient thrum of ceremony.
He holds something small, fragile, smouldering
a ritual ember, a thread of smoke
curling upward like a spirit
seeking its rightful sky.
Behind him, another dancer rises
in a crown of feathers,
a living echo of winds that once
swept untamed across continents.
And in that suspended second,
between steps, between heartbeats,
the street becomes a timeless corridor
where the past returns not as ghost
but as pulse
steady, defiant, beautiful.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1033
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.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 1032 and FACE OFF
In Flagstaff Garden’s open green,
a man in woven reds and golds
steps into sunlight.
His sombrero casts a wandering shadow,
wide as a travelling story,
while his boots tap out
the heartbeat of another land.
Ribbons flare from his sleeves
small wings lifting with each turn
and the embroidered birds on his vest
seem almost ready to fly.
He dances as though the earth remembers him,
as though the wind hums old corridos
just for his feet.
Children pause, pigeons scatter,
and the city stills its hurried breath
to watch colour, rhythm, and history
spin briefly into bloom.
In the quiet after his final step,
Flagstaff Garden feels larger
as if one man’s dance
has opened a doorway
to a faraway sun.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 1030
In the hush beneath the low-lit ceiling,
the kitchen glows like a small universe
steam rising, knives flashing,
each sound a quiet constellation
finding its place.
Chefs stand at the centre,
white coats bright as moons,
hands moving in a practiced grammar
of flame and broth and time.
They stir, they carve, they taste
artists mid-sentence.
Around them, the diners form
a darkened crescent,
faces tilted toward the rituals
of heat and creation.
Some watch with reverence,
some whisper,
some simply wait
for the next moment of astonishment
to be placed before them.
Reflections ripple in steel
and glass and polished counters,
doubling the room’s intensity
the choreography of hunger
and craft intertwined.
Here, the night slows.
Here, the world contracts
to the soft clatter of plates,
the low hum of conversation,
the breath held just before
a dish meets the tongue.
And in this brief, glowing orbit
around the kitchen’s heart,
everyone—chef, diner, wanderer
leans closer to the warmth
of something made by hand,
something fleeting,
yet unforgettable.
Sony A7RV
FE 24mm f1.4 GM
Check out Candid 1029
Under the corrugated awning,
shadows fold themselves neatly
along the footpath
a long ribbon of tables,
empty, waiting for stories
to sit down.
The sign reads Viet Rose Bakery & Café,
its letters faded by years
of passing weather and passing people.
Beside it, Yeshi Ethiopian Restaurant
leans over the walkway,
a quiet guardian of spice and memory.
A woman in dark glasses
walks alone,
coat trailing like a soft echo
behind her.
She moves through the street
as though following a rhythm
only she can hear.
In the window,
two men eat
their reflections layered
with cars, bicycles,
and the old brick façades
across the road.
Mouth mid-bite,
conversation paused,
caught between hunger
and a passing thought.
A poster of a bánh mì
fills the glass with its hunger
bread split like a smile,
herbs scattered like confetti
from a quiet celebration.
Above all this,
the wires, the rooflines,
the city’s unhurried breath
a small moment held open
on an ordinary street,
where everything is familiar,
and somehow still singing.
Sony A7RV
FE 24mm f1.4 GM
Check out Candid 1028
Oarsman at Dusk
The sea is a page of shifting silver,
inked by the wind in long, restless strokes.
On it drifts a small wooden boat,
paint peeling like old stories
told too many times.
A man stands steady at its heart
weathered hands on a single oar,
guiding his vessel through
the slow pulse of water and memory.
His gaze is fixed somewhere
the horizon keeps secret,
a place where the day’s labour
and the tide’s whisper meet.
Boots worn smooth by salt and seasons,
a rope in his grasp like a promise
he’s kept all his life.
Around him, quiet tools of a craft
that asks for patience,
that rewards only faith:
a net, a bucket, an oar,
the hum of solitude.
Above, evening leans in.
Below, the sea breathes.
And he
a silhouette carved by time
moves forward,
one steady pull at a time,
into the soft unwritten dark.
Check out Candid 1027
A lady with rabbit-bright teeth
stands in Flagstaff Garden,
a cup held lightly in her hand
as if it knows her secrets.
A wry smile curls at the edge
of her quiet afternoon,
soft as the breeze that moves
through elm leaves overhead.
She watches the world
with a gentle, tilted wonder
a moment paused,
simple, odd,
and perfectly her own.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 1026
Under the warm glare
of a single hanging bulb,
a young man works
steady, quiet, intent.
His cap pulled low,
his eyes fixed on the scoop,
he lifts steam and grain
from a wide, waiting pan,
as if serving more
than just food.
Behind him, voices blur,
shapes soften into shadows,
but he stays sharp
a still point
in the hum of a market day.
In the simple act
of filling a plate,
there is rhythm,
there is care,
there is the small poetry
of hands doing their work
with gentle precision.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 1025
A man stands in a field of soft, blurred voices,
sunlight falling on his bare arms,
on the crumpled tissue in his hand
a small pause in the middle of a busy day.
Beside him, a woman bends toward a child,
their movements quiet as petals settling.
The child leans forward,
hair slipping like a brushstroke
toward the open earth.
Around them, life goes on
figures drifting, talking,
fading into background haze
but here, in this small circle,
time slows to a gentle heartbeat.
A moment of care,
unremarkable to the world,
yet whole and complete in itself
a simple tenderness
held on a sunlit lawn.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 1024
Under the old wooden Lemonade Stand sign,
cups are stacked high,
a vendor waiting with a quiet smile.
A woman stands in front of him,
ponytail falling over her shoulder,
hand on her hip as she studies the menu
blood orange, lemon, granita.
The food-festival bustle drifts around them,
trees rising behind the tents,
a simple moment of choosing a drink
in Flagstaff Gardens.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
A couple walks side by side
through Flagstaff Gardens, Melbourne,
burritos warm in their hands,
wrapped like small comets
about to bloom with spice.
Denim mirrors denim
jean jackets soft with use,
jeans worn at the knees,
their steps keeping an easy rhythm
as though choreographed
by the quiet evening breeze.
Beside them, the food truck glows
a bright, humming lantern
perfumed with grilled onions,
fresh coriander,
the promise of seconds.
They move together,
casual as conversation,
their laughter drifting up
to mingle with treetop dusk.
And in that simple walk
hands full, hearts light
the garden briefly becomes
a small country of warmth,
where love tastes like burritos
shared on a soft-footed stroll
toward nowhere in particular.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 1022
A young man,
jeans faded like long-travelled roads,
walks with his back to my lens
a silhouette etched in motion.
A wide Mexican hat crowns him,
its brim a small horizon
carrying stories he may not yet know.
He passes beneath the arching sign
of Melbourne’s Mexican Festival,
colours fluttering like paper prayers,
music drifting warm as spice.
In that instant
hat, jeans, stride
he becomes a quiet emblem
of crossing into celebration,
a wanderer stepping
from the ordinary
into a world painted bright
with culture, laughter,
and the promise of belonging.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 1021
In Flagstaff Gardens, Melbourne’s quiet green,
a man stood pausing in the late-day air,
a fork raised like a small, earnest compass
guiding him through a container of nachos
golden shards catching the light
as if the sun had scattered them by hand.
He wore summer lightly:
a T-shirt soft with miles of wandering,
shorts brushing the edge of breeze,
and in his back pocket, a bottle
tipping like a secret he’d forgotten to hide
a small companion clinking with his steps.
Around him, the city hummed
its unhurried evening hymn:
trams sighing, leaves whispering gossip,
pigeons pacing like old philosophers.
But he ate as though nothing else existed
each bite a quiet devotion,
an edible peace,
a brief, gentle proof
that a moment can belong entirely
to one person,
one fork,
one mouthful of nachos
in a garden holding its breath.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 1020
Two men beneath matching caps,
T-shirts blazing a Brazilian logo,
stand anchored in the Saturday hum
of Flagstaff Gardens, Melbourne.
One is bent to the grill,
cutting meat with a craftsman’s calm
smoke curling around him
like a quiet anthem
lifted from far-off shores.
The other,
sunglasses dark as river stone,
faces my lens without flinching
a held breath of curiosity,
or challenge,
or just the stillness
between sizzle and song.
Around them the garden thrums:
kids running, parrots chattering,
wind brushing the old trees awake.
And in the middle of it all,
two men in the same hat and shirt
briefly become a scene
a small, vivid stitch
in Flagstaff’s wandering tapestry.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1019
Two lady performers,
floral loops crowning their hair
like dawn-warmed garlands,
let the last notes of their music
settle into the soft lawns
of Flagstaff Garden.
They lean toward their support staff,
quiet laughter blooming
between them like late-spring petals,
their words drifting in the air
where melodies once lived.
The garden listens
trees tilting in approval,
pigeons pausing mid-step
as the performers, unmasked from the stage,
become simply two friends
gathering themselves
after giving their hearts to the day.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1018
Two lady performers
floral loops crowning their hair
like small, deliberate blossoms
stand before twin microphones
in the green hush of Flagstaff Garden.
The guitarist begins first:
fingers like soft rain on warm timber,
each chord a slow unfurling
of late-afternoon gold.
Beside her, the violinist lifts her bow
as though summoning a dawn,
and from the strings bloom tones
so tremulous, so fine,
they seem spun from the breath
between wind and dreaming.
Their voices rise
two petals carried on the same breeze
braiding through guitar warmth
and violin shimmer,
floating over the lawn
like a blessing that knows no name.
For a moment, time leans in,
listening.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1017 FACE OFF
An Indian chap in a weathered cap
stands behind his hawker stall
at Flagstaff Garden
a small kingdom of smoke and sizzle
claimed for the evening.
He brushes sauces onto skewers
with the precision of habit,
lacquered reds and browns
catching the flare of the grill.
No ritual of sharing here
just trade,
just hunger meeting craft,
just the quiet exchange
of money for flavour,
the brief transaction
between a vendor and the passing world,
each skewer handed over
like a moment that never lingers.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1016
A young woman in dark sunglasses
leans toward a waiting skewer,
the sun catching on the metal,
on her smile half-hidden.
Behind her, the Mexican mural
spills its colour across the food truck
chilies, saints, and swirling blossoms
a feast painted before the feast.
She lifts the skewer,
a small moment in a busy day,
yet framed by all that colour
it becomes its own bright story.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1015
Two vendors at the Mexican stall
leaned close in quiet debate,
their words rising like warm spice
into the afternoon air.
Behind them, in the soft green hush
of Flagstaff Garden,
two women—one young, one weathered by years
turned toward my waiting lens.
The younger with curiosity,
the elder with knowing calm—
as if they had long understood
that every moment, once seen,
becomes a story.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1014
