realia

stove light

It’s deepest, darkest winter. Technically it’s not the darkest winter; that went by a month ago and I am starting to notice the longer days and I'm grateful for that. But it’s deepest, darkest winter in that there are months of it behind us and months ahead. This past week we’ve been in a big freeze. And while winter walks usually feel good with cheeks glowing healthy pink and the hearty inhalation of great gobs of oxygen, recent blustery days have made it really unpleasant to be out.

I’m actively not complaining about the cold. In other parts of this province and most of my country it’s much colder than it is here. My Australian friends are enduring the worst heat wave they’ve ever had. In a cold snap you can make yourself more comfortable; in a heat wave there are only so many clothes you can take off. Cold is invigorating; heat is energy sapping.

In winter I miss the light more than anything. These days the subtle progress of daylight’s lingering over the street feels like a blessing; I want to reach out and grab it but the million colours of twilight elude me as exit the work day, moving westward ahead as I walk toward home. I miss the explosion of colours in the other seasons; winter's twilight is a jewel on the mostly monotone landscape.

The light has gone when I get home. I turn on the stove light, all my life a symbol of comfort. A symbol of the best thing about deepest, darkest winter – how good it feels to get home.

 

 

what's your rush?

 

This morning I'm moving about my place, finishing coffee and packing things up for work, and I'm stopped still by the sun showing itself, suddenly, in a mirror.

"Good morning," the sun says. "What's your hurry?"

"I'm glad to see you too," I say.

 

sun rising, toronto harbour, thursday

This morning I get up and, waiting for the kettle to boil, I pull the curtains back and look out the window and find the photo of the day. 

Hello Thursday.  I'm glad to see you.

a realm apart

I get as much pleasure looking at the objects in my window when they're reflected by the morning light onto the curtain as I do looking at them when the curtain is open. It's kind of otherworldly-like; secret goings on in that other realm just beyond the reach of this one.  Like when you're a little kid and you think all your toys come alive when you're sleeping, interacting in a toy community with toy concerns and toy traditions and toy conversations - all above the little non-magical world of mortals and thus never to be shared.

not the santa claus parade

Lovely Sunday morning and there's a fair bit of loafing around, reading, making luscious breakfast, I mean brunch, editing photos and eventually getting showered to go out and catch up with the Santa Claus parade making its way down toward St. Lawrence market. As it happens, my fault, we don't get out the door in time and as we walk down Wellington Street, we find a lot of families heading home and what looks like a massive advertisement for Tim Horton's plastered all over the street. If what Tim's is advertising is garbage.

Post parade litter, which gets progressively more abundant as we move east on Wellington. I'm 51 and I live in a large city and I still get shocked by those who would throw garbage on the ground.

The crowds are  a little less charming after the parade than they might be during the parade and it's a relief to duck into the cozy and quiet little Cést What for some fine ale and snack of warm cheese with carmelized onions, and warm pretzels and broccoli for dipping.

Cést What pub, Front Street, Toronto

Later we walk home in the twilight and I'm thinking the colour of that sky is more beautiful than any old parade float any day.

Twilight behind Front Street, Toronto

 

cavalcade of lights

In which we get up close and personal with thousands to watch the lighting of the tree and subsequent fireworks at Nathan Phillips Square (Toronto City Hall).

autumn night walking: city hall

Toronto City Hall

Fountains at Nathan Phillips Square

 

As we're about to roll over into late autumn and the revert back to standard time, it occurs to me that many of my shots will be taken under a night sky.

 

nuit blanche 2012

People observing. David Pecaut Square

Skylum - in the CBC Broadcast Centre Atrium

Toronto's Nuit Blance, 2012.  In which we go out at bedtime and find art in the city.  And lots and lots of people.

rose coloured glasses

"...painted skies and graceful romances..."

 

patch of sun on a drizzly day

I come upon this street and start looking around for the rainbow because the sunshine on that building amidst all those dark clouds makes it look like the proverbial pot of gold.