Beneath the sheltering trees of a 6.5-kilometre path around Lake Paprocany, moments unfold quietly — a ripple across still water, a shadow stretching over worn timber, a slant of sunlight that lingers as though it carries a secret. The air is warm, heavy with the scent of pine and the faint hum of distant voices carried from the water’s edge. Each step leads deeper into a rhythm of shade and light, where the everyday softens into something almost forgotten.
These images are not merely records of a summer’s walk; they are fragments of a story never fully told. The lake mirrors the sky with deceptive calm, hiding currents that only the wind knows. Footprints along the sandy verge hint at those who passed earlier, their purpose unknown, their presence lingering only in the faint marks left behind.
As you move from frame to frame, the path becomes less a route and more a thread through time, winding past benches worn smooth by waiting, over wooden walkways where the boards creak softly in the heat. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls once, then falls silent, as if deciding not to reveal too much.
Each photograph holds something just out of reach, a question without an answer, a whisper carried by the breeze. They invite you to pause, to wonder who might have walked this way before, and what tales the lake has kept hidden in its depths. And perhaps, as the circle closes and the path brings you back to where you began, you will find yourself wondering not what you have seen, but what has quietly seen you.
The Full Collection
