Before Moving Again

She wasn’t running yet.

Just stretching, one foot pulled up behind her, hand on the cold stone, body leaning slightly forward. A practical pause. Nothing dramatic. Tower Bridge behind her, doing what it’s always done, and being completely ignored.

That felt about right.

Most people don’t stop in places like this. They pass through. Heads down, pace set, already late for whatever’s next. The city becomes a corridor rather than a place. This moment didn’t ask for attention it only appeared if you were already paying it.

I nearly walked past.

There’s something familiar about watching someone prepare rather than perform. This wasn’t exercise as spectacle. No headphones, no timer, no urgency. Just the body checking in with itself before moving again. A quiet negotiation between effort and intention.

That’s what made it worth photographing.

Street photography often gets described as hunting, chasing moments, waiting for collisions, anticipating gestures. This was the opposite. Nothing happened. And then, because nothing happened, everything was there to notice.

The texture of the stone.

The damp pavement.

The way the city holds still when someone decides to pause.

Tower Bridge sits in the background like a reminder of how often we miss what’s directly in front of us. A landmark reduced to context. A tourist destination relegated to scenery. Meanwhile, the real moment is small, human, and over in seconds.

I like that imbalance.

This photograph isn’t about London in any grand sense. It’s about the seconds before action. The moment when someone is still entirely themselves, before momentum takes over and the day resumes its demands.

We don’t tend to value these moments. They don’t produce anything. They don’t move us forward. They don’t fit neatly into stories. But they’re the ones that feel most recognisable when we see them again.

Sometimes the most honest thing the street offers isn’t movement at all -

it’s permission to wait.

Just long enough to notice.