Suspendre le soleil


Suspend the Sun

The bright orb continues its trek to the horizon.
Rich colours: ochre, red, orange, yellow, purple, mauve, even grey.
Its westward drop seems vertical on the other side of the lake, unshakeable.
I would want to stop it, to suspend the sun.
What magnificent scenery: artistic, elegant, peaceful, warm.




Des fils de toutes les couleurs
Embobinés au fil du temps
Se laissent enfiler
Par la machine et ses contrôles
L’ordre émerge, petit à petit
Jusqu’à ce que seule l’harmonie règne

Threads of all colours
Spooled over time
Let themselves be threaded
By the machine and its controls
Order emerges, little by little
Until only harmony remains

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.

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.

Spring is here

Sunday posing as first day of spring
Brought a sense of freedom for this bear
Took a walk in the woods over there

Familiar sound of geese on a wing
Snow machines zipping on the river
Soon followed by a quiet cycler

Tracks remain from the soles of my boots
And from kids in colourful snowsuits
Frozen a moment in the cool night
Gone tomorrow, melted out of sight

Silence, sunshine, warmth delight my soul
How beneficial this little stroll
Among woodpeckers and chickadees
Enchantment to put my mind at ease


A friend asked me to take a challenge recently. It seemed simple enough: post one picture per day, for seven days, on the subject of nature. Things got complicated when I started looking through my inventory of photographs, trying to choose only seven.

Here are the lucky seven (I added a few on the last day of the challenge).