Tag Archives: Photos

A Shadow of Yourself


Shone all summer long.
Side by side with hundreds more,
Dazzling with texture, symmetry and colour.

Defying the morning chill and afternoon gale
For a few days yet, maybe only til tomorrow?
Your petals will float to the ground.

Soon leaves will follow.
All that will remain
A shadow…



Dusk to Dawn

lake-superior-44-of-50Copper-coloured Skies and Crashing Waves

I took these two photographs on the eastern shore of Lake Superior, at Agawa Bay a few weeks ago. The first at sunset, after a particularly violent storm raged for several hours, with high winds and heavy rainfall. The second on the following morning.
I have a special affection for the lake—Gitchee Gumee they call it—and its power…

How Long

The fury of the late afternoon storm hangs on
Reluctantly giving way to more peaceful conditions.
Not calm. Not yet.

Waves continue their pounding
Polishing millions of coloured pebbles
Shaping the shore mercilessly
As the sun sinks below the horizon.

Exhausted, I lay my head on the pillow
A lullaby, the west wind in the tall pines.
The surf softens, its energy waning.
With the rhythm of your heartbeat, sleep comes.

Morning arrives, your music still fills my ears
Drawn to the edge, I shiver. My breath hangs in the air.
Calm and serenity returned, but for how long?

lake-superior-19-of-32Mist shrouds Agawa Bay at sunrise

In All Your Splendour


It was in the spring; we were younger then.
Shrouded in fog, surrounded by melting snow.
A dim gray light, trickling through thick clouds,
Made you look almost colourless.
Mist filled the air and blurred my eyes.
All of you for me alone.
How could I be so fortunate?

Time flies…

I had to see you again; an innocent rendez-vous.
Chaperoned by all these unsuspecting bystanders.
Your voice echoed through the forest,
Familiar, mighty, thunderous, inviting.
No clouds today, only blue sky.
Around the bend, there you were again
In all your splendour.
Until next time…

An impromptu visit to Bond Falls, MI

Des fleurs, toujours des fleurs

Flowers, always flowers…

I never tire of photographing flowers.
I can spend hours in the English Gardens, examining every detail, breathing every perfume. Dreaming…
The time of day, the cloud cover, the breeze, the crowds, the insects, the sounds, all contribute to an ever-changing experience.
Proximity, angle, composition, groupings, geometry, shadows, focus, depth of field…
The star of one becomes the supporting cast of another.
Once in the flower’s space—or allowing it to enter my own personal space—a unique bond is created, if only for a few moments. Every detail is exposed for the eye to see; pollen, petals,  pistils, stamens, stems, leaves. Every curve, every flaw. Within mere centimetres, I find myself holding my breath, conscious of the stillness of the subject, not wanting to disturb it.
Can the flower feel my presence? Does it sense the intensity of the look, the scrutiny? I think not.
Does it understand the joy it creates, this elation, this sense of wonder?
And when the summer showers can no longer sustain it, and the gardener’s watering can has emptied for one last time, the flower begins its final journey.
A different look: colours waning, petals wilting, leaves shriveling, seeds falling, covering the ground at its feet, melting into the soil for the next generations to come. Or for itself, preparing for a long winter, until the time is right, once again…
I never tire of photographing flowers.

Buzzing Around

English Gardens_2016 (42 of 178)

If you’re like me, you probably thought this was a bee or a wasp.
In fact, it only looks like a bee or a wasp, for protection.
A brief research quickly cleared things up.
It is a Hoverfly (also referred to as the flower fly, or the syrphid fly).

The hoverfly and I were both attracted by the same beauty: a rose.
An English Tea Rose I believe.
Love at first sight…

A Panoply of Lily

The second instalment of my English Gardens collection (Hemerocallis).

An explosion of colours and shapes!
Soft, sensuous, graceful, inviting, enchanting…
Petals appear to float against the sky.
Pleasing contrast of edges, hues, and blues,
Play of light, colours and shadows: beauty.
Each variety its own floral kaleidoscope.
Daily ritual, dance, clockwork, morning to night.
Come rain or shine, cycle of life:
Lonely pistil, sign of what has been
Shrivelled, dark flowers who gave their all
Pollen-coated stamen ripe for the picking
Buds awaiting their turn, sign of what’s to come.
Names evoking faraway places and times:
Casablanca, Scheherazade, Speciosum Rubrum
Ice Caves, Quintessence, Lilium Auratum.
So difficult to leave them. One last look.
Heartened with knowing
They will return next spring…


I treasure my visits to the English Gardens at Assiniboine Park.
From the moment I walk through the gate with trepidation and anticipation, until the very last second when I chance one last, longing look, I find myself in a trance-like state.
I am there but I am not, really.
The colours, the shapes, the movements hypnotize me, take me by the hand and lead me along the many paths. I don’t think; I think of nothing yet my senses are most alert, on edge. My eyes scan every inch, afraid to miss anything.
All this beauty invites, attracts, enthralls.
I look, recognize, compose, shoot, again and again. One last time is never the last time, never ending. It cannot be…
Bathing among the statues in their green, translucent liquid garden, the nenuphars  oscillate at the rhythm of the fountain. Their bright colours in stark contrast to the deep greens of the leaves–a frog’s hammock–and the reflections on the surface of the inky pond.
All drink in the sunlight.