I don’t often crop my photos to square, but since I did one, why not try few more just for the fun of it. It does sometimes bring different things to the main focus.
From an aerial vantage point, we peer down onto a nondescript sidewalk. The pavement, a patchwork of square tiles, stretches ahead like a monochromatic ribbon. But it’s not the pavement that captures our attention; it’s the lone figure treading upon it. A person walks, the posture suggests introspection—a deliberate escape from the cacophony of urban life or just maybe she is lost in her own thoughts, oblivious to the world around her .
On either side of the sidewalk, lush trees stand sentinel. Their leaves form a natural canopy, filtering sunlight into dappled patterns. Their branches reach out, as if urging the wanderer to pause, to breathe, to listen. Adjacent to the trees, empty bicycle racks stand in orderly rows. They wait patiently, like forgotten companions, for riders who haven’t arrived. Numbers—cryptic symbols—adorn the road. “20” and “20.” Are they parking spots? Coordinates? We can only speculate. Yet, these markings lend an air of mystery, inviting us to unravel their meaning.
Have a I captured this fleeting moment, preserving it for eternity, a glimpse of quietude.
In this shot you are invited to step into the wanderer’s shoes. To feel the coolness of the pavement, the rustle of leaves, and the weight of our own thoughts. It’s a reminder that amidst the hustle, we can find stillness; in the ordinary, we discover the extraordinary.
So, take a breath. Walk alongside the solitary figure. Let the greenery envelop you. And in this urban reverie, find your own moment of reflection.
Remember: Sometimes, it’s in the spaces between footsteps that life speaks loudest.
The scene unfolds like a forgotten interlude—a pause in the symphony of urban life. The buildings, stoic and weathered, stand shoulder to shoulder, their walls bearing the marks of time. The beige structure, unassuming yet dignified, seems to lean slightly, as if sharing a secret with its crimson neighbor. And there, nestled between them, lies the narrow street—a silent conduit for wheels and footsteps.
The cars, like obedient sentinels, rest in neat rows. Their colors—pearl white, midnight black—mirror the monochrome palette of the pavement.
And then, the trees. Ah, the trees! their branches stretch upward, defiant against the rigid geometry of man-made structures. Leaves flutter in the breeze, casting fleeting shadows on the asphalt. No bustling crowds disturb this tableau. Only one’s hurried footsteps echo off the walls.
Amidst the beige and the red, the cars and the trees, we glimpse the poetry of stillness.
Ritva Sillanmäki Photography 