It was one of those Central European summer days that can’t quite make up its mind: warm enough for short sleeves, yet coyly overcast, clouds sliding across the sky like stage curtains. Every so often, the sun would burst through, not unlike an impatient director shouting, “Now! Roll camera!” If you’ve ever tried to photograph shifting light, you know the drill: exposure, recompose, exposure again, wait for that glow to kiss the landscape, and then, click.
We, Dorota, Monty (our indefatigable Shih‑Tzu scout), and I spent the day tracing the riverside path in Węgierska Górka. The Soła ran ahead of us like a ribbon of pewter occasionally polished to silver when the light returned. Families strolled, cyclists coasted by with that summer‑holiday lack of urgency, and anglers occupied patient stations along the shallows. Community in motion, framed by mountains and pines.
