Every night at the exact same time, all the crows in Vancouver inexplicably fly en masse to a single spot in Burnaby, where they hang out for the night and then scatter all over in the morning again.
At Kits Point, we watched these ones preparing to take off for awhile; they kept making false starts, circling these trees then resettling. Then suddenly, they just flew off.
Outside Whistler I walked around and found this rail bridge over a glacier fed creek.
It was a bright, clear windy day, the kind of fall day you long for during the sludgy depths of November and the inescapable late summer heat.
Lodged beneath the bridge was an entire log, stuck there for who knows how long from some past springtime highwater.
A small bit of graffiti was perfectly offset by the blue sky.