Winter Reflections
For sundry reasons, I haven’t edited and uploaded photographs after recent walks at Lost Lagoon in Stanley Park. Yes, I admit I could have pushed myself harder to bring the Lightroom processing to completion but because I don’t want photography to become a chore, I decided to give myself a break and make resting and reading priorities after finishing the daily to-do/must-do lists. Now, during these latter days of January, I have more free time and energy so I’ll try to catch up before the end of the month. Revisiting these images now after the recent extreme cold and heavy snowfalls gives me comfort in the midst of a growing sense of solastalgia.
In a Fog
Stanley Park in late November, 2023.
The Park’s Gifts: Late November Edition
Two morning walks in Stanley Park. Serene, blue skies with clouds, and calm waters with gently rippled reflections. Close encounters with trees and moss, birds and squirrels.
The Third Sunday in October
Everything I do these days is done with a heavy heart. Including photography. But I will continue to practice this art to replenish my hope and spirit. The natural world is beautiful and life-sustaining and I’m so grateful to experience its wonders. Every leaf, every bird song, every shade of autumn colour, and every moment of light are gifts to cherish.
The Second Sunday in October
Flora and fauna on the inner trails of Stanley Park
The First Morning in October
and the second morning after the night of the Harvest Moon:
Lost Lagoon, October 1st, 2023
Running Toward Autumn
Lost Lagoon, the 23rd of September, 2023
Here is my response to Kaitlin Curtice’s question on Day 6 of a week of poetry: What does it mean to run toward Autumn, ready to learn from the coming season?
Run toward Autumn
with heart and senses wide open —
eager for its lessons and gifts.
Now, as you enter the park,
slow your pace, still your mind —
prepare to arrive to yourself.
Follow the path to the lagoon,
step by step,
by sight, by sound, by touch, by smell, by taste.
Gather red maple leaves
snagged by the thorny branches of wild roses —
hand in hand, walk with Mother Nature.
Cast your gaze across the water
to the far shore of fading greens
where the trees are beginning to turn.
Marvel at the Great Blue Heron,
with his sharp, unblinking eye,
the skilled fisher of three-spined stickleback.
Turn your face to the grey sky,
feel the gentle rain wash away summer's drought and dust —
Breathe in fresh, clean, sweet, cool air.
Slowly, deeply, completely exhale and soften —
release yourself to the natural rhythms
of the breath, of the place, of the season.
You know and love this urban forest,
all that lives and dwells here
in every season, but especially Autumn.
This feels like home.
You feel whole —
and deeply grateful.
Juvenile Great Blue Heron at Lost Lagoon, the 23rd of September, 2023