Our national flower, part 3

Pop Art

Our National Flower, part 2

A Flaneur in Flannel Underwear

Did I pick a great weekend to go to Montreal and get to know the city by foot, or what?

Niagara Gorge in the Spring

We lost track of the trail, and ended up trying to scale up the face of the escarpment along an improvised route........only to continually slide backwards on the crumbling dirt. Thrashing our way back to the path, we came across a windowless, doorless car embedded into the side of the hill.

Our National Flower

The Tim Horton's cup: a hardy perennial that takes root everywhere - sidewalks, ditches, alleys, parking lots, front yards, playgrounds, sewer grates, city parks.....even in remote corners of the Niagara Gorge in the winter months.

Visit to Buck Lake (AB), November 17 2007

While we were helping to put up the storm windows on the cabin, a group of horses climbed down a small hill and stood at the fence marking the boundary of the property. One, with a bell around his neck that clanged every time he moved, vainly snuffled for food in an empty, rusted-out trough. One stood at a distance among the trees with a very conspicuous erection, seeming to be quite ashamed and burdened by the weight of his unsatisfied desire. The two horses in the foreground of this picture monopolized our attention, chewing on our sleeves and collars, and chasing away the smaller horses (and one donkey) that tried to approach us. By the time we were back to the cabin, I saw - through the one picture window that was still uncovered - that they had retreated back out of sight to the other side of the hill.

Twelve Mile Creek, behind Rodman Hall

Last Sunday (Dec. 2), Sandra and I went to see the 'Objects of Affection' show at Rodman Hall, then descended the winding path behind the gallery for a hike along Twelve Mile Creek. Along the way, to the roar of traffic on the 406 and the rattle of rail cars overhead, she snapped this picture.

To me, in retrospect at least, it captures some of the spirit of the show itself - the yearning for moments of sublimity and beauty, tempered by an awareness that they can only be experienced by willfully cropping out the disappointing banality of life beyond the frame.