painted fall

rustic orange. scarlet, and crimson maple;
golden yellow birch and poplar;
fiery red sumac—
the warm, familiar colours of a classic Ontario fall. 

the changes in the valley have been subtle this year,
with only splashes and pockets of colour
in the fields and woods where I walk with Glasgow,
as if someone climbed into the landscape and painted them there
with soft, impressionistic brushstrokes.

but whether soft and mellow, or brilliant and flaming,
it is enough to sustain me
as I pull the colours from the trees
and hold them close to my heart,
because even in its exaggerated beauty,
this is what it feels like to be home
among the changing seasons. 

roses poster by debbie carlos

I am incredibly drawn to this new roses poster by Debbie Carlos, who has become well known for her striking large format halftone photographic prints and their simple, quiet aesthetic. Although a selection of her photographs are also available in colour, this is the first poster printed in greyscale on colour paper, producing a soft, luminous, and richly textured graphic effect. Available in pink or green, the images are strangely inviting and visually arresting, almost beckoning one to enter into a dark, night-time garden; but they are also remarkingly and unusually beautiful. I am still in awe and can't decide which colour I like best. 

View and purchase the poster here. 

You can also view a lovely video promoting the poster and Debbie's introduction of colour into her monochromatic work here, produced in collaboration with Studio in the Sun.

from August to Autumn

I had planned to post photos of the post-wedding holiday we spent at a rustic Northern Ontario camp in August immediately upon returning home to newly married life. I had planned to share our adventures, all the goodness that happened in our lives, all the new and wonderful things I had learned and discovered. But then life happened and we became so incredibly busy as summer winded down and autumn slowly crept in.

But I still want to share those photos and the moments and moods they capture. And I think today, the last day of summer, is the perfect day to do so. I suppose in a fitting way, this is my farewell to that favourite season as we welcome a new one: to long summer days and lazy afternoons; to sultry heat and sweaty, sunkissed skin; to casual evenings relaxing on the balcony and drinking beer; to driving down country roads with the windows down; to biking to pick up our fresh CSA baskets; to the month that contained all the love in the world as it saw our family and friends gather to witness Andrew and I share our vows; to the camp I love and know so intimately, having spent my childhood summers there, and that I am lucky enough to return to every year with my dad.

And yet, the week of our vacation up North was not at all characterisitc of summer. It was cold and rainy, with the strongest winds and biggest waves I have ever witnessed at this time of year, making for a particular kind of gloominess. But it was perfect. It was exactly what we needed to relax and recover from all the work and energy we put into making the wedding happen. We wrapped ourselves up in layers of clothing to bear the weather outside and nestled inside by the fire, warming our spirits with endless glasses of wine and long conversations. Andrew passed long hours fishing at the edge of the dock and I curled up reading and slipping in and out of afternoon naps.

All around us, something about the soft, grey light contrasted against the dark greens of the Boreal Forest and golden reds of the pine and cedar was perfectly seemless.

It was as if the seasons were already turning.