Creeping towards the end of summer.

It has been a very dry summer here on the west coast of Canada and that drought has lasted through September and well into October. Except in the damp bottom lands where streams usually run, all our vegetation of the bushy type is hanging on for dear life. Yesterday though, after months of blue skies we had fog in the morning when I drove Heather to the early ferry and later when I took my camera down to Indian Point there was a damp breath in the air and nearby islands were indistinct beneath a flat grey overcast. What a change!

Gone are the strong shadows and stark contrasts of direct sunlight. Now I am back in the filtered, even light of winter. I miss the drama but welcome the subtly of smoothly delineated forms. The whole landscape is hushed in this grey waiting room, - waiting for rain and wind.

Crunch, crunch go my footsteps on the gravel beach and gentle sighs come from the little waves. In the dark forest all is still. So still that I feel watched and glance several times over my shoulder for a cougar walking silently in my footsteps. Waiting, watching.

Photography today comes out of that watching stance of the landscape. Nothing dramatic, no highlights, just careful placement of forms within my camera’s frame, a thoughtful working out of tones and rhythms. Muted, precise, like those even beats of the waves on the shore.