Pagoda at Lake Eola Florida

The Ordinary World

Most weekends, I stay local. I shoot neighborhoods, people in motion, alley murals—the small stuff. My camera and I have an understanding: we don’t go looking for beauty. We wait for it to surprise us.

But lately, the surprises had stopped.

I was itching for something with meaning. Depth. A story.

The Call to Adventure

Scrolling through old folders, I saw it: a photo someone else had taken years ago. The Lake Eola pagoda. Framed at sunset. The wood glowed crimson. The reflections in the lake shimmered like oil on water. It felt sacred, almost forgotten, like it was waiting to be seen.

I had to go. Not to copy that photo—but to find what it meant to me.

Refusal of the Call

But it was downtown. Busy. Parking would suck. The light might be wrong. I told myself all the excuses. “It’s been photographed a million times.”

But the image stayed with me—like a whisper I couldn’t ignore.

Meeting the Mentor

I watched a video from a local Orlando street photographer. He said, "Shoot like it’s the first time you’ve seen the world. That’s the trick. Forget the clichés."

That hit me.

I packed my gear, grabbed a second battery (just in case), and headed out as the sun began to rise.

Crossing the Threshold

Downtown Orlando was waking up. Soft morning light draped across empty streets. The fountain sprayed mist like silk threads into the air. Joggers moved in slow rhythm. The city had a heartbeat I hadn’t noticed before.

Then I saw it.

The pagoda—half-shadowed, nestled beneath trees that filtered the light like stained glass.

Tests, Allies, Enemies

I moved around it cautiously, like approaching a wild animal. Tourists wandered in and out of frame. A man with a saxophone started playing near the amphitheater—“Misty,” I think. The wind tugged at the trees. My camera wouldn’t focus at first. My hands shook.

I took a deep breath.

Waited.

Let the light come to me.

Approach to the Inmost Cave

I found my spot—low, near the edge of the lake, with the water acting like a mirror. The red of the pagoda flared against the blue morning sky. I adjusted my lens, slowed my shutter, and breathed through the shot.

Click.

One photo.

That was the moment.

Everything aligned.

The Ordeal

As I stepped back to review the shot, a group of ducks splashed right through the water. Ripples ruined the mirror. The moment was gone.

And I realized: it was never about getting the perfect photo. It was about being there for it.

The Reward

Later, at home, I looked through the shots.

Most were just okay.

But one… one had that stillness. That sense of quiet power. The pagoda didn’t just sit there—it watched. It waited. And I’d captured it.

The Road Back

I posted the photo with no filters. Just a caption:

“Sometimes, the sacred hides in plain sight.”

People responded. Not just likes—but messages. Memories of the park. Of walks. Of proposals. Of quiet lunches and lost days.

The Resurrection

I realized photography wasn’t just about images. It was about witnessing. Giving forgotten corners a voice.

The pagoda wasn’t just architecture.

It was a story.

And now, I was part of it.

Return with the Elixir

Since that morning, I walk differently. I look differently. I know there’s still magic in familiar places—if you show up with open eyes and a steady hand.

Lake Eola changed me.

And it all started with a little red pagoda.