Some days my son disappears into the woods.
Armed with nothing but his imagination and sense of adventure, he heads into the woods behind my parents’ house, often with his cousins and friends. He’s done this on gorgeous summer days, drizzly evenings, and crisp snowy mornings.
I’m never exactly sure what he does there, nor do I care to go investigate. I hear the occasional shout and the hard crack of wood against wood, so I know they’re safe.
The woods are the setting for untold stories, and the fallen trees are material for a fort. The darkness is a filter from the rest of the world. There is just enough distance between this forest hideaway and the watchful eyes of parents to allow him freedom to invent without boundaries, to play without rules.
I can’t see my son when he’s in the woods, but this is what I know: I know he is developing his independence, his creativity, and his appreciation for our natural environment.
He may come back to the house bug-bitten, scraped, or splintered, but he comes back happy.
I got to see the efforts of the boys’ hard work. They proudly led me through the woods to their fort, and I was so impressed I went back for my phone so I could share what they had built:
As someone who dreads mingling, the best part of events – in my opinion – is the photo possibilities.
I had fun photographing these alliums last night.
They’re bright purple is a pop of colour in front of our garage, and their pompom shape appeals to my inner child.
Stay tuned for more flower pictures (after a bit of an unplanned blog hiatus)… The garden is in bloom!
I love these old iron fences surrounding equally old buildings in the downtown area of Kingston.
It was only after composing the shot that I noticed the broken piece I had focussed on. I like that this repeated pattern is imperfect, that the attempt at order has been thwarted.
Life’s like that.
Below the trees, where the light barely reaches, the melted snow had created a small pond. Part ice and part water, the trees reflected here and there.
It is a natural abstract.
This is why I love photography so much, and in particular why I love my macro lens: I can take something as simple, as old and calcified as a little tap in a greenhouse, and make it pretty.
It is what I think of as accidental art, although it’s really not accidental at all.
Leftover from last season, a maple leaf rests on a patch of snow.
The winter has rendered it amber, left its mark in wear and tear. And yet, after a season of rain, snow, wind, and frosty temperatures, it has somehow retained its shape.
It is a symbol of survival.
To step into a humid, perfumed greenhouse in the middle of winter is to step from one season into another.
For a moment, it was summer.
The City of Kingston has free entry into their greenhouses on Sunday afternoons for a few weeks. It was an opportunity I could not resist.
We took a walk at Lemoine Point (in Kingston, ON) on a mild Sunday afternoon.
Fresh air, sunshine, and spring-like temperatures lured us outside for a walk with the kids. Teeny chickadees and fluffy squirrels were our company.