A May evening in the city center.

The sky is densely overcast with a thick veil of clouds. The intensifying rain just made me lazily reach into my backpack for an umbrella, then pull it from its case and open the large black dome above me.

Headlights reflect in the wet asphalt. It’s a beautiful and mysterious moment — on the edge of day and night, on the edge of water and the fire of the nighttime city.

You walk down a noisy street. Everything is predictable — you know what you’ll see, you know how this evening will end. It feels safe; you’ve walked this path a thousand times before.

But then you pass an archway that leads into the darkness. What awaits you there?

Earlier this evening — a Moment That Illuminated the Garden .

It’s cloudy, as if it’s about to rain. I’m hurrying home to grab a spare battery for my camera, but suddenly I freeze: in the overcast garden, everything around is lit by a calm, beautiful young spring tree. Despite being in a rush, I stop, take out my camera, and snap a few shots. I’m eager to capture this magical moment. A moment of birth.

A few hours later — The moment I turned into the dark .

A year ago, during an evening walk, I met a man in the city — probably in his sixties.
He didn’t block my way, but his eyes held a quiet wish to speak.

I stopped, took out an earbud, and let him know I was ready to listen.

He said:

I never thought it would come to this.

Then added:

You’re not planning to drink, are you? (tomorrow, the day after — during the holidays)

I told him no.

He said:

Don’t be afraid. You hear me? Don’t be afraid of anything.

I replied:

Thank you. All the best to you!

He answered:

No — all the best to you.

An ordinary evening. An ordinary passerby. But there was something in him — something real, calm, and wise.
He didn’t impose, didn’t ask for anything, but it felt like he wanted to say something important.

Unfortunately, in the flow of life, we often fail to notice His presence — in passing strangers, in other people.

I came across an interesting bike in the night city. It feels like I captured a little scene—something is clearly happening here. Maybe the stenciled figure left their bike by the pole and went off to a late-night store or a date. Or maybe we’re actually witnessing the aftermath of an accident? If you pay close attention to the world around you, you’ll start to notice all sorts of curious things. It’s useful to see the invisible.

Walked at sunset with the excellent lens Mir-1V.