Nature, we love ya!

Hello dear Hive friends, oops, did I say photography addicts? I meant Hive friends, hihi. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Sometimes, walking through nature feels less like a stroll and more like entering a gallery curated by the lovely sun. These photos were not taken in a farfaraway forest, but just off a quiet path near river — where light, shadow, and patience came together.
The first frame is not just a tangle of spiderwebs. It’s an architecture of silence. I noticed how the late afternoon sun cut through the green, catching the fragile lines of silk, barely visible unless you really stop. This photo was about slowing down my breath and letting the camera wait with me.

The second image was unexpected. A stick — simple, dry — but covered in strange texture. Eggs? Fungi? (I think it's not) Insects planning something? I don’t know. But the contrast between the delicate life-form and my childish mint blue nails hand holding it gave this shot its story.

Of course I will find at leat one gorgeous butterfly per day. Always moving, always delicate. The light was again generous — backlighting the wings, brushing the thistle’s purple. Isn't it lovely?

I then continued to the river’s edge, where time feels suspended in the shimmer of shallow water. One of my favorite images from this nature walking tour is of my foot resting on a stone — toes painted red like a small rebellion against the earth tones around me. Below the surface, a soft chaos: silt rising like ink in a dream, clouds of memory stirred by one simple step. It reminded me how even the gentlest move can change what lies beneath. I got my feet wet but didn't swim.

Then the river itself.

Not just water, but movement written in light. The wind danced on the surface, folding the sun into wave-patterns — pushing, pulling, dividing the current like brushstrokes across a living canvas. I stood there, camera still, afraid to disturb what the wind and sun were painting together. Sometimes the frame is not taken, but gifted. ❤️

Photography, I keep learning and repeating to myself, is not about control — it’s about attention. About light. About timing. To everything that might disappear if you don’t look twice.