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A bird on the lens is worth...

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Tree pose. Seemed like the thing to do.

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Managed to get these two out of Snowtember alive...

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[Insert "Life Direction" quote here...]

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Right on Time

As a photographer, my knowledge of seasonal timelines is pretty good. I know that the tulips poke their noses through the earth by Spring Break always; that they'll be in full bloom by the beginning of May. I know the canola is at its best right in the middle of July. I know that November sunrises align well with my morning routine (and they are specTACular!).

And I know that autumn in Edmonton generally reaches its peak in the last week of September.

With not one--but two--snowfalls before the autumnal equinox, I thought for sure that any colour left after so many trees had lost still-green leaves would be a very short sight indeed. And since September is my busiest month work-wise anyway, I wasn't paying much attention.

But today I had a different commute than usual--one that took me over the river valley--and I could not help but catch sight of the colours.

Turns out autumn showed up right on time.

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"Of all the paths you take in life,

make sure a few of them are dirt."

- John Muir

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#NoCaptionNeeded

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How to be in the river valley and not in the river valley at the same time.

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Warrior!

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Just a summer morning in Saskatchewan...

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A Beautiful Hassle

Air travel is a hassle. Playing Tetris with everything you want to put in your suitcase. Getting up at ridiculous a.m. hours to get to the airport in the required time frame. Winding your way through security. Laptop out. Boarding pass out. Shoes off. Pat down.

You sit on a modestly comfortable lounge chair with your coffee. You are attached to your carry-on bags, which means sliding them into tiny washroom stalls, hoping all zips are closed and no straps are dangling.

You haul your belongings onto the plane, crawling over other passengers so you can squish yourself into your seat.

The flight is delayed, they need to de-ice the plane.

The smell of airplane, the nauseated feeling when the plane tips and your inner ear does not. Wet wipes for table trays, and trying to drink water without turbulence sloshing it all over you. Your ears pop.

The passenger in front of you has gas, the one beside you has mild BO. The person directly behind you just sneezed.

You land and wait to deplane--"we're just waiting on the ground crew"--and you notice that your connecting flight starts boarding in ten minutes. You race between terminals with your belongings, vaguely aware of the sweat forming under your clothing. Do I still have time to grab a Timmy's?

Yup, air travel is a hassle.

And air travel is beautiful.

Upon take off, this giant metal tube with hundreds of people inside defies gravity as cars, trees, and buildings get smaller. Despite all we have created and discovered--smart phones, space stations, cures for disease--there is something about good ol' fashioned air travel that reminds me of the power of human innovation. I am in awe.

Simultaneously, I am humbled. In my day-to-day activities, I am aware that I take up physical space. I am a driver on the road, a voice at team meetings, a being with agency and influence. In the air, I am a speck. We are all specks. This world was here before us and it will be here after we are buried beneath it or scattered across it. The world keeps moving along, whether I am down in the thick of it or flying above it.

I always try to get a window seat.* This is partially to reduce the potential for motion sickness, but mostly for the view. Because, the view. It is gorgeous and breathtaking and life-giving all at once.

As we move over the land, a sense of wonder takes over. Patchwork quilts of prairie fields go on forever; trees and rivers ribbon together; small flecks of white are sprinkled across the deepest blue ocean. We float above clouds that I swear I could hold in my hands.

Eventually we begin the descent. We glide parallel to mountain peaks in the distance. We drop through the clouds and circle around to orient the plane towards the runway. A calm lake below reflects the light so perfectly that I am seeing the sky with its cotton-ball clouds on the ground. The evening sun glints off vehicles below, and the city ripples with a glittery sparkle.

I take in a new landscape. That is quite the freeway interchange; wow, the water really is that blue. I am reconnected to the places I know. I'm pretty sure that's that street; oh yes, because over there is that building.

The harvest moon comes up as the wheels touch down, and a symphony of seat belts un-click. I'm about to start a new adventure, or throw myself into my favourite people, or collapse into that familiar bed.

It is all a hassle.
And it is all beautiful.
And I will take it every time.






* Current success rate: about 90%.

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Hand-held macro work at the butterfly house; I am proud to say I actually had several options for this SOTC shot. Mad macro skills that day, I tell you.

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Canadian Vegas; I was warned.

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I love when the geese come back.

And then let me get within two feet of them.

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Or so I've been told. #DaringGreatly

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He is certainly not the toddler he once was... but he is still one of my best models.

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Probably my cutest SOTC photo to date!

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A Moment for the Kindness of Strangers

The kindness of strangers over the last 48 hours or so has floored me--to the point that I can no longer keep the gratitude to myself. For anyone who needs some faith restored in the humanity around them today...

To the five people who pushed my car up a hill in a snow storm: you started as two. And when the neighbours, shovelling their own way out of the snow, noticed that two was not enough, they dropped what they were doing and flanked you both to help. I did not get a chance to say a proper thank you, but I heard you cheering along with me as you gave one last push into the intersection. ...I just want you to know, I made it home.

To the woman who helped me remove a shard of glass from my finger: I don't even know what you look like. I tend to get tunnel vision when I'm focused on a critical task; so as I stood at the sink in a busy public bathroom, all I was focused on was my finger. But I heard your voice beside me--encouraging me to squeeze the cut for you so you could help remove the glass. I know I could have worked it out on my own, but you saw a way to make it easier. I didn't see your face, but I saw your gentle fingers come in alongside mine, and gently wipe the shard away. "There! We got it!" you exclaimed. The accomplishment was as much yours as mine in the end. I heard you dispose of the paper towel, finally in a head space where I could look up to see you. But you had already turned away towards the door--and then you were gone. I just want you to know, tending another's wound--no matter how small--is a brave thing in my mind. Thank you for your bravery.

To the Airbnb guest who insisted on helping me clear my driveway: when I said, "1900 square feet," I was not exaggerating, but you didn't seem to mind. You grabbed the shovel while I started up my snow thrower--you did your thing, I did mine. I may have taken on most of the surface area, but you tackled all the stairs and the uneven path to the back gate. As far as I'm concerned, that's like voluntarily taking the heel of a loaf of bread; I just want you to know, I am extremely grateful.

To the lady who gave me her parking pass: I'd been pretty much go-go-go all day. And at the end of the afternoon, with one meeting still left, I stood in front of the parking lot pay machine, pausing to consider my options on the screen. There is something to be said for a pause in a busy day. As you started your car, your voice cut through the traffic around me, "Do you want my pass?" Thank you for sharing. I just want you to know, it may have felt like a little thing, but it was a meaningful thing.

Source unknown

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Edmonton! What's not to--

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New year, new perspective, right?

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