Miss. Ash
this hill is paved with wild wheat. If the conifers and sagebrush are soloists, the wheat field is a corps de ballet, each stem following all the rest in bursts of movement, a million ballerinas bending, one after another, as great gales dent their golden heads. The shape that dent lasts only a moment, it is as close as anyone gets to seeing the wind
Tara Westover, Educated
Fall in Calgary is finicky, as is most of the seasons in Calgary - but this fall in particular had a definite sullenness - full of ash, haze and mist. Except for perhaps one week - one week in which the sun produced golden, buttery soft light, and the trees blossomed in a riot of beautiful warm hues. If only for a week.
My good friend Tara and her daughter Ashley, lucked out. For the weekend we scheduled to wander around a park and take photos - was that one weekend. It was warm, golden, with nary a cloud in the sky and a beautiful sunset to boot.
Thanks Ashley for being just downright awesome and playing with sparkles and leaves with me. And Tara! For remembering all my bits I forgot in places I would never remember.
