Every day, I travel a familiar path through this part of East London, from Snaresbrook’s Hermon Hill Road toward Goodmayes, often by bus. Before the journey begins, I wait quietly near the Wanstead station, where the city unfolds like the first lines of a beloved poem. I watch people drift in and out of the morning, some rushing, others strolling, each absorbed in their own little universe. The rhythm of their movements, the fragments of conversation, the laughter, even the silence, they all stir something in me.
I take pictures as a ghost photographer, quietly capturing moments that might otherwise vanish. There’s a delicate poetry in the shifting light and long shadows, in the reflections on bus windows, in the way sunlight falls across the pavement or lingers on a shop sign. Sometimes, a smell from a bakery or coffee shop floats in the air and feels like comfort. The shops along the Wanstead path are as alive as the people, restaurants bustling with breakfast prep, a florist arranging colors into bouquets, a gallery with its newest display catching the eye of a passing child. Everything is vivid, but not loud.
And yet, amid all the brightness, I sometimes notice someone who seems distant, or heavy with thought. There’s a pause in my chest when I see them. Loneliness wears many faces, and it appears even here, in this lively, fragrant, light-drenched place. I wish, in those moments, that no one ever had to feel alone. But I understand that they do. We all do. Everyone needs someone, at every stage of life.
This stretch between Snaresbrook and Goodmayes, through Wanstead, past the little park on one side and the tapestry of shops on the other has become more than a route. It’s a quiet collection of fleeting stories, of the poetry that lives in passing moments
I am simply here, watching, witnessing, and sometimes framing the world with a silent lens, hoping to hold onto the feeling that makes someone want to read a line twice ….
Tell me about how much you like street photography?
Roksana Tales 