August 17, 2026

On small boats

The alarm went off before dawn, and by six I was already at the northern lakes. The path was muddy and longer than the map suggested, but the view at the end made up for it.

The café near the northern lakes still serves the same cinnamon buns; I had two and pretended it was research. I kept a paper notebook this time, writing down the time and the light for every roll.

A light drizzle started around ten. I sheltered under a bus stop roof and photographed people hurrying past. An elderly couple asked me to take their picture. I used their phone, then made one frame of them on mine.

There is something calming about returning to the same spot and noticing small changes since the last visit. I sat on a bench for almost an hour, just watching empty benches change as the clouds moved.

I underexposed most of the frames on purpose, to keep the mood cold and clear rather than bright. Locals barely noticed me. A man feeding gulls told me the place looks completely different in spring.

I will probably come back in a few weeks, when the season turns.