Point King Jetty, Sorrento for Treasure Tuesday

 

Last weekend, when the weather turned unfavourable, Joel and I sought shelter and diversion in the comfort of a Japanese bar, where we enjoyed a glass of sake together. Another quiet weekend of food and drink, and the indulgence that inevitably follows.

Point King Jetty, once the preserve of Melbourne’s affluent elite, was originally constructed in the 19th century to provide a landing place for the distinguished visitors who travelled by steamship to the Mornington Peninsula. The secluded shoreline of Sorrento became, for a time, a playground of privilege, a place where the wealthy could disembark directly onto their own stretch of sand, shielded from the crowds. Today, however, such exclusivity has long since dissolved, and the jetty—though weathered by time—welcomes visitors of every kind, including casual wanderers such as ourselves.

On that particular day, the sky unfolded in sweeping dramas of cloud, shifting and curling above the calm waters of the bay. The photograph I share was taken during that visit. The curious shade of blue is not the true reflection of the sea, but rather the result of a known issue with the Sony camera’s sensor I once used. At the time, I lacked the patience to correct the colours in post-editing, yet the image remains for me a testament not only to the scene itself, but also to the imperfections and character of the tools with which it was captured.

Sony A7III

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Byaduk Cave Silo Art, Budj Bim for Mural Monday

 

Last year, whilst engaged in employment near Warrnambool Hospital, I took the opportunity upon a quiet weekend to journey into the surrounding districts in search of fresh air and a measure of repose. My travels carried me towards the charming township of Byaduk, a settlement of modest size yet notable for its enduring ties to the land and its recent contributions to the celebrated movement of Australian silo art.

The silos of Byaduk, once plain and utilitarian structures of rural industry, now stand transformed into monumental canvases that honour both the natural world and the heritage of the region. Painted under the hand of contemporary artists, they breathe new life into these sentinels of the wheat trade, which in earlier decades symbolised the prosperity of Victorian farming communities. Today they form part of the larger Australian Silo Art Trail, a cultural endeavour that has swept across the nation, turning the functional relics of agriculture into enduring public galleries beneath the open sky.

In beholding these works at Byaduk, one perceives not merely colour upon concrete but the meeting of past and present—an echo of toil upon the land now reimagined as a celebration of beauty and memory, binding the township more deeply to both its own history and the broader story of rural Victoria.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Fungus in Mount Macedon for Sunday Best

 

Another weekend has been marred by inclement weather. Joel and I sought our customary refuge at the Japanese bar, where the comfort of warm sake provided some consolation. Indeed, I intend to replenish my supply of sake regardless.

What follows is one from my collection of macro studies of fungi, taken upon the slopes of Mount Macedon. The mountain, with its cool and shaded gullies, provides an ideal environment for such delicate growths, whose minute forms reveal unexpected intricacies when examined closely.

For those who journey from the eastern fringes of Melbourne, the approach to Mount Macedon is a gentle transition from suburban streets into pastoral scenery. One may take the Eastern Freeway, continuing westward until it joins the CityLink or Tullamarine Freeway. From there, the Calder Freeway leads north-west through undulating countryside, with fields and woodlands unfolding in succession. After approximately an hour’s drive, the great massif of Mount Macedon rises ahead, its slopes cloaked in towering eucalypts and, in the cooler months, veiled in mist. The road winds upwards from Macedon township, affording ever-widening views of the surrounding plains until one arrives at the forested heights where nature’s more secret marvels—such as the fungi I photographed—lie hidden beneath the canopy.

Sony A7RV

Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

Linking Sunday Best

Emu in Kyabram Victoria Australia for Saturday Critter

 

Though the beak in this portrait is a touch over-exposed, the eyes hold the true essence of the bird—bright, alert, and commanding. This photograph was taken near Kyabram in Victoria, within the grounds of a wildlife reserve dedicated to the preservation of native fauna.

The emu (Dromaius novaehollandiae), immortalised in both Aboriginal tradition and the national coat of arms, is the largest bird native to Australia and second only to the ostrich in stature worldwide. With its powerful legs, the emu is capable of remarkable speed, traversing the plains with strides that echo the ancient rhythms of the continent itself. Its feathers, soft and dusky, provide protection from the sun’s harsh radiance, while its sharp eyes and inquisitive nature mark it as both wary sentinel and curious wanderer of the open country. For countless generations, it has held a place in the mythology and sustenance of Australia’s First Peoples, its form appearing in story, dance, and art.

Kyabram and its surrounding district lie within the Goulburn Valley, a region shaped by the slow meander of rivers and the fertility of their floodplains. Once a mosaic of woodlands, grasslands, and wetlands, it offered rich habitats for kangaroos, wallabies, waterbirds, and of course the emu, whose foraging paths crossed the open country in search of seeds, fruits, and insects. In more recent centuries, settlement transformed much of the land into orchards and farms, yet sanctuaries such as the Kyabram Fauna Park safeguard the memory of what once was, allowing the visitor to encounter these creatures in surroundings that still whisper of the older Australia.

Thus, within this single image—an emu’s brilliant eyes meeting our own—one glimpses both the enduring spirit of a species and the layered history of the land upon which it strides.

Pentax K20D

A 300mm f2.8 

Linking Saturday Critter

Portsea Beach, Mornington Peninsula for Skywatch Friday

 

This steadfast rock has ever been my compass for long exposures, a sentinel against the shifting tides and the passing of seasons. Last weekend the heavens conspired with storm and rain, and so I turned from the unruly present to the stillness of my archives, where calmer skies and gentler seas remain preserved.

Portsea Beach itself is a place where time and tide weave their eternal dance. The cliffs and outcrops, born of sandstone and limestone laid down in forgotten oceans, stand weathered yet unyielding, their faces etched by centuries of wind and wave. Each stone bears the script of ages, each ripple of sand a fleeting verse upon the vast poem of the shore.

Here the sea gathers its strength, for the Southern Ocean presses against the narrow Heads, surging into Port Phillip Bay with a restless spirit. The waters may gleam like glass beneath a quiet dawn, yet within them lies the memory of tempests, of ships dashed and lives claimed. Beneath it all, the Bunurong people once walked these sands with reverence, their footsteps bound to the rhythm of tide and season, reading the coast as one might a sacred text.

To stand upon Portsea Beach is to linger at the threshold of worlds—the ancient and the present, the serene and the perilous. It is a place where nature holds dominion, and where the solitary rock, enduring amid the breakers, becomes not merely a subject for the lens but a symbol of patience, memory, and the silent grandeur of the sea.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Bridgewater Bay Blairgowrie for Water H2O Thursday

 

Both Joel and I longed to breathe the briny air and hear again the timeless voice of the sea. A fortnight past, we made our way once more to the cliff-tops overlooking Bridgewater Bay at Blairgowrie, drawn by the desire to attempt long-exposure photography in a place yet untried. Though the conditions were far from perfect, the novelty of the location, with its rugged beauty and the promise of new discovery, gave the venture a certain poetry of its own. Joel, ever patient, came to collect me from my home, but through my own misjudgment—having earlier taken my mother to supper—I delayed him by forty minutes. That tardiness weighed heavily upon me, for I felt I had stolen time from both him and the sea itself.

Bridgewater Bay, where we stood, is no ordinary shoreline. It is a place where the restless waters of Bass Strait carve their legend into limestone cliffs and sandstone shelves, where tidal pools mirror the heavens and the wind carries whispers of ancient times. Once a hunting and gathering ground for the Boonwurrung people, who knew the rhythms of these shores long before our cameras sought to capture their moods, it later became part of the maritime frontier of the Mornington Peninsula. The bay has borne witness to shipwrecks and storms, and its eroded rock formations—arched, honeycombed, and sculpted by centuries—stand as natural monuments to endurance.

Thus, as Joel and I set up our tripods against the evening light, I could not help but feel that our own small pursuit of a perfect image was but a fleeting gesture in the vast theatre of time. The bay, with its layered history of people, tides, and stone, seemed to forgive my lateness, reminding me that all human haste dissolves before the patience of the ocean

Sony A7RV

FE 16mm f1.8 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Melbourne Wheel and neon signs on South Bank for Sign2

 

Night falls over Southbank, and the city transforms. The high-rise towers along the riverbank begin to glow from within, their windows lit in squares and strips of amber, white, sometimes warmer yellows, occasionally a cool blue or green. Some windows are full; others only partially illuminated. Their light spills out onto the Yarra below in shimmering reflections — a mosaic of brightness dancing on the ripples.

Along the Southbank Promenade, street lamps and decorative lighting trace the edges of walkways, railings, and trees, giving form to the river’s edge. The softer glow of these lamps contrasts with the intense brightness of the office towers and apartments. There is also a fairytale quality to it — the river acts as a mirror, doubling the spectacle and blurring the boundary between built structure and reflection.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Ryūzu Falls in Japan for Treasure Tuesday

 

Many years ago, I found myself wandering the mountain paths of Nikkō with only a small point-and-shoot camera and a tripod as my companions. My intention had been to capture the splendour of autumn leaves, but the season had already slipped away, leaving the branches bare and the forest quiet. What might have seemed a disappointment at first revealed itself instead as a rare gift: in the absence of fiery foliage, the falls themselves became the focus, luminous and unadorned. I pressed the shutter only a few times, yet this image has endured as one of the few remaining from that period of my life. Looking back, I would not dare attempt such a venture again, yet the memory remains as vivid as the sound of the water that day.

The cascade before me was Ryūzu Falls (Ryūzu no Taki, 竜頭の滝), the Dragon’s Head Waterfall, whose twin streams tumble down the rocks in a white veil that, with a touch of imagination, resembles the horns and mane of a mythic creature. The Yukawa River feeds its ceaseless descent, carrying the mountain’s breath from Lake Yunoko down toward Lake Chūzenji, tracing a course carved over countless centuries.

Ryūzu has long been cherished not only for its beauty but for its spirit. In Japan, waterfalls are often regarded as sacred thresholds where nature reveals its force and purity, and where pilgrims once paused for contemplation on their way to the shrines of Nikkō. Standing before the falls, one senses that same timeless quality: the mingling of power and grace, the endless renewal of water against stone. In autumn, the spectacle is even more profound, when maples and beeches ignite in red and gold, as though the dragon itself were breathing fire into the forest. Even out of season, however, the falls hold their majesty—reminding the traveler that beauty is not confined to the height of autumn but lingers quietly in every moment of the year.

What remains most precious to me is not the photograph itself, but the silence and humility it recalls. The memory of Ryūzu Falls is a reminder that nature does not perform for us; it simply endures, and in its endurance, offers us a glimpse of something eternal.

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Fitzroy Murals in Melbourne for Monday Mural

 

I am not sure whom drew these murals. A little punk and sassy. 

Last weekend, we did not venture a coast again. The weather turned sour and high tide at the sea. So we just visited a cafe instead. 

Sony A7RV

FE 35mm f1.4 GM

Lining Mural Monday

Fungus wonder in Lake Sanitarium for Sunday Best

 

After a fortnight of steady work free from on-call duties, I find that my sleep pattern is at last restored. I have also resumed the habit of reading the news and attending to various hobbies. Advancing age has made me realise that I can no longer endure the unrelenting burden of round-the-clock shifts.

This particular mushroom is frequently found at Lake Sanitarium, Mount Macedon. The gentle rear green bokeh it affords is a quality I hold in highest esteem—though, amusingly, it is the very aspect that Joel most dislikes.

Sony A7RV

Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

Linking Sunday Best

Regent Honeyeater spotted at Crusoe Reserve, Bendigo for Saturday Critter

 

This bird is the Regent Honeyeater (Anthochaera phrygia), a critically endangered species native to south-eastern Australia. Distinguished by its striking black-and-yellow plumage, the distinctive warty skin about the eyes, and a strong, curved bill adapted for feeding on nectar, the Regent Honeyeater is one of the nation’s most imperilled birds. Its numbers have diminished drastically in recent decades, largely as a consequence of habitat loss and the fragmentation of the eucalypt woodlands upon which it depends.

During the period of pandemic restrictions, I took to visiting the Crusoe Reservoir daily as a means of physical exercise and quiet reflection. Situated near Kangaroo Flat on the outskirts of Bendigo, Victoria, the reservoir was constructed in the 1860s to supply water for gold mining and township use. Today, it forms part of the Greater Bendigo National Park and serves as a place of both recreation and environmental significance. Encircled by walking trails and woodlands rich in birdlife, it provides a refuge for native flora and fauna, as well as a glimpse into the region’s goldfields heritage. My regular walks there afforded me not only the benefits of fresh air and exercise, but also the chance to observe the delicate balance of nature in a landscape that has long borne the marks of human history.

Pentax K10D

FA 300mm f2.8 

Linking Saturday Critter

Flinders Blowhole Beach in Mornington Peninsula for Sky Watch Friday

 

This stretch of beach was where I often wandered in search of crabs hiding in the rock pools, timing my steps just before the sun began to sink low over the horizon. The tide left behind pockets of still water that mirrored the sky and, most strikingly, the cave nearby whose reflection shimmered with the changing light. It was a fleeting but beautiful moment, where the ordinary act of looking into shallow puddles revealed both life and landscape in harmony.

The cave and blowhole are part of the rugged coastline at Flinders, on the southern edge of the Mornington Peninsula, about an hour and a half from Melbourne. The region tells a story that stretches back millions of years, when volcanic activity left behind the dark basalt cliffs that now meet the sea. Over time, the powerful swells of the Bass Strait relentlessly carved into these rocks, hollowing out sea caves and forming the blowhole that today draws both visitors and locals. The air there often carries the salt spray of crashing waves, and on windy days the ocean surges with a force that reminds you of its timeless authority.

Flinders itself has long been appreciated for its natural beauty, with its cliffs, rock shelves, and tide pools offering endless opportunities for exploration. Beyond its geology, the area is steeped in human history too: the coastline was known and traversed by the Bunurong people, who relied on its waters for food and held deep connections to its land and sea. Later, it was named after the navigator Matthew Flinders, who charted much of Australia’s southern coast in the early 1800s.

Standing at the blowhole today, watching the sun lower across the horizon and catching glimpses of crabs in the pools, I felt the convergence of many timelines. The fleeting moment of a reflection in water was layered atop a landscape shaped by fire and ocean, and upon traditions that stretch back thousands of years. In that sense, the Flinders Blowhole is not only a place of natural drama but also one of quiet continuity, where the vastness of history meets the intimacy of memory.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Travancore Water Hole reflection for Water H2O Thursday

 

In the 1990s, these sculptural sticks were erected as part of an effort to position Melbourne as a more artistic and culturally expressive city. I still recall the press at the time describing them in unflattering terms, with some critics dismissing them as eyesores or likening them to phallic symbols. I later learnt that the area was considered particularly well suited to black-and-white photography, which prompted Joel and me to visit for a walk. As it happened, the rain had lingered in the precinct, leaving reflective surfaces that added depth and character to the sculptures. It proved to be an enjoyable and memorable outing.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Fushimi Inari Taisha, a Shinto shrine in Kyoto, Japan for Sign2

 

Fushimi Inari Shrine, situated at the foot of Mount Inari in Kyoto, is among the most celebrated and ancient Shinto shrines in Japan, dedicated to Inari Ōkami, the deity of rice, prosperity, and good fortune. Its most iconic feature is the seemingly endless avenue of vermilion torii gates, donated over centuries by individuals and businesses as offerings in gratitude or in hope of future blessings. Each gate bears the name of its benefactor, a custom that has sustained the shrine’s upkeep and expanded its striking pathways. The shrine itself was established in the early 8th century, predating the relocation of the capital to Kyoto, and has long stood as a symbol of devotion, commerce, and the harmonious intertwining of the spiritual and material worlds.

Equally refined within Kyoto’s cultural heritage is the tradition of kaiseki cuisine, an artful form of dining that mirrors the natural cycle of the seasons. Each dish is prepared with the utmost delicacy, not only to please the palate but to reflect the fleeting beauty of the present moment—whether the freshness of spring, the coolness of summer, the richness of autumn, or the stillness of winter. Much like the shrine’s torii gates, which embody continuity and devotion, kaiseki cuisine embodies elegance and transience, reminding the diner of the profound relationship between nature, ritual, and the human spirit.

Fujifilm Pro2

16-55mm f2.8 

Linking Sign2

Infinity rooms Port Melbourne for Treassure Tuesday

 

Earlier this year, a considerable number of exhibitions were devoted to the presentation of so-called “infinity rooms,” a form of immersive installation art that captured much popular attention. These exhibitions became something of a cultural trend, attracting large audiences eager to experience the illusion of boundless space created through the ingenious use of mirrors, light, and repetition. Although they were widely discussed and much admired at the time, I did not record or present them here, and thus the phenomenon has remained unremarked upon in this account.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Hosier Lane mural by Superb_Beefalo

 

I was unable to discover much information about the artist. Nevertheless, the work does not appear to be left unsigned. It is a colourful composition, depicting a green dinosaur adorned with a crown, set against a vividly psychedelic background.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Serenity falls, Queensland for Sunday Best

 

Serenity Falls, hidden within the lush embrace of Buderim Forest Park on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast, is a place where the natural world seems to speak in a softer, older language. The track that winds through the forest leads the visitor past three distinct cascades, each with its own charm, before arriving at the falls themselves—a ribbon of water tumbling gracefully over weathered rock into a shaded pool below. The journey is as captivating as the destination, for the path meanders beneath a canopy of subtropical rainforest that has flourished here for centuries. Strangler figs with their immense buttressed roots stand like sentinels, while piccabeen palms rise in elegant clusters, their fronds swaying with the faintest breath of breeze. Ferns, mosses, and lichens carpet the shaded gullies, their green hues intensified by the constant moisture.

The atmosphere is one of tranquil vitality. Birdsong drifts through the forest, punctuated by the whipbird’s sharp call and the softer murmur of smaller songbirds moving among the branches. Insects hum in the undergrowth, while the cool air carries the faint, earthy scent of damp leaf litter. The falls themselves seem to gather and release this energy, their waters tumbling with a rhythm that both soothes and enlivens. The light filtering through the canopy adds to the tropical impression, creating shifting patterns of brightness and shadow that dance across the rocks and water.

To linger here is to be reminded of the resilience of Queensland’s rainforests, remnants of ancient ecosystems that once spread far more widely across the continent. Serenity Falls is more than a scenic landmark; it is a living fragment of deep natural history, where the subtropical forest continues to thrive in a delicate balance of shade, moisture, and life. To walk its tracks and stand before its cascades is to step, if only for a moment, into a world both timeless and ever-renewing.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

Grey Headed Pigeon in Braeside Parkin for Saturday Critter

 

Braeside Park, situated not far from metropolitan Melbourne, has long been renowned as a haven for bird photography. The wetlands and open woodlands provide rich feeding grounds for many migratory species, whose seasonal journeys bring both colour and life to the reserve. I recall, some years past, attempting to capture these birds with a manual telephoto lens; it was no simple task, for the creatures were swift and wary, and the art of bird photography demands both patience and steady hand.

Among the avian visitors, the Grey-headed Pigeon (Patagioenas plumbea) is of particular interest. This shy and rather elusive bird, distinguished by its smooth slate-grey plumage and gentle bearing, is more often heard than seen within its forested haunts. Native to Central and South America, it inhabits dense lowland forests and foothills, where it feeds upon fruits and seeds high in the canopy. Though not a resident of Victoria, it represents the broader wonder of migratory and nomadic birds whose presence enriches sanctuaries such as Braeside Park. Their life histories remind us of the delicate web of ecosystems that sustain them, and of the fleeting beauty that birdwatchers and photographers alike strive to preserve in image and memory.

Pentax K20D 

A 300mm f2.8 

Linking Saturday Critter

Melbourne Skyline Panorama for Skywatch Friday

 

The panorama of Melbourne Sky View. Joel and I did not feel innovative. We went to grab the famous lemon pie from Cliffton Hill then Northcote to take this drone shot. 

DJ Mini Pro4 

Linking 
Skywatch Friday

Forest Cave Phillip Island for Water H2O Thursday

 

I have sought a somewhat high-key approach in this composition. Though it is not the product of a long exposure, I endeavoured to capture the advancing waves as they swept across the shore, smoothing the sand as though polishing a vast marble floor. The shutter was set at neither too swift nor too languid a pace, thereby rendering a natural softness in the motion of the sea.

This scene unfolds upon one of Phillip Island’s secluded forest-fringed cave beaches, where rugged cliffs and weathered rock bear silent witness to millennia of wind and tide. The dense coastal woodland above, with its canopy of eucalypt and tea-tree, whispers of an ancient landscape that has sheltered wildlife and echoed with the passage of the Bunurong people long before European discovery. Here, in the meeting of forest, stone, and sea, the rhythms of history and nature are inscribed in every grain of sand and every retreating wave.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Ikaho Onsen Signs for Sign2

 

As I have not yet fully recovered from the exertions of my most recent locum assignment, I have for the present refrained from wandering the streets of Melbourne in search of candid moments or sign photography. Instead, I turned once more to one of the albums from my travels in Japan. Among those recollections, the town of Ikaho Onsen stands forth with particular clarity—a place where history, culture, and landscape meet in harmonious accord.

Ikaho Onsen, situated upon the slopes of Mount Haruna in Gunma Prefecture, is among Japan’s most venerable hot spring resorts, its origins traced as far back as the eighth century. For centuries it has been celebrated for the therapeutic properties of its iron-rich waters, which flow in a deep reddish hue and were long believed to promote healing and longevity. The town itself is arranged upon a steep hillside, its heart defined by a celebrated flight of 365 stone steps, each said to mark a day of the year. These steps are lined with traditional ryokan inns, bathhouses, teahouses, and quaint shops, creating an atmosphere at once ancient and enduring.

In the Edo period, Ikaho became a favoured retreat for poets, artists, and travellers, and its charms were frequently recorded in both literature and art. During the Meiji era it attracted statesmen and writers alike, among them the noted author Rokusuke Natsume, who found inspiration in its tranquil setting. Even today, festivals enliven the stone stairway with colour and music, preserving the rhythms of a living tradition.

To stroll through Ikaho is not merely to visit a hot spring, but to step within a cultural landscape where the past remains palpably present—a place in which the slow ascent of the stone steps seems to mirror the centuries of devotion with which this onsen town has been cherished.

Panasonic G9

Leica 12-60mm f2.8-4

Linking Sign2

Murtoa Stick Shed, Victoria for Treasure Tuesday

 

For the past four years I have made the monthly journey to Horsham, where I attend to my professional duties within the local hospital, nursing homes, and community clinics. The drive has become a familiar one, and on each occasion I pass through the modest township of Murtoa. This settlement is distinguished above all by its famed “Stick Shed,” a structure of both national and historical significance.

The Stick Shed, officially known as Murtoa No. 1 Grain Store, was constructed in 1941–42 at the height of the Second World War, when wheat surpluses threatened to overwhelm conventional storage facilities. Built in only four months, it was intended as a temporary measure, yet it endures as the last remaining example of several such sheds once scattered across Victoria. Its extraordinary interior is supported by 560 unmilled mountain ash poles, rising like a vast cathedral of timber and corrugated iron. At 265 metres in length, 60 metres in width, and 19 metres in height, it could accommodate up to 92,500 tonnes of wheat. Once regarded simply as a utilitarian granary, it is now recognised as an engineering feat of national heritage, earning its place on the Australian National Heritage List in 2014.

My blog friend Stefan would, I suspect, remain unimpressed by my indulgence in ultra-wide-angle compositions of the building. Yet I find myself rather taken with the subdued, muted tones with which I have treated my photographs; they seem to lend an atmosphere befitting its austere grandeur, and in turn they awakened in me many recollections of past journeys.

On a lighter note, I was able to meet Joel over the weekend for a restorative bowl of pho. On this occasion there was no photography—only conversation, laughter, and the easy comfort of friendship. It was a simple pleasure, but one deeply felt.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 9mm f5.6 

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Lonsdale St Murals for Mural Monday

 

One evening, during an outing, Joel escorted me to a Korean restaurant. At its entrance, and upon the façades of the neighbouring shops, there were displayed murals of considerable charm.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday