The other day I went out to Kipling station and walked south to the lake in order to collect some bleak industrial landscape images to play around with for my major.

It was the textbook definition of partly cloudy. Huge clouds, slowly moving across the sky, occasionally blotting out the sun. Given that I have found it’s much easier to composite images on a cloudy day, or at least, in this case, while the sun is diffused by a large cloud, I would stand around waiting for a chunk of cloud to get blown between me and the sun before attempting to take any photos. Everything there out there is extremely wide open and barren, you can see for distances that do not exist in the core, and could occasionally see the shadow of the edge of a bank of clouds moving towards you at a fantastic clip.

The most memorable instance of this was about (damn, i’m getting old) eight years ago, while treeplanting. There are many awful things to be said about clearcuts, but you can definitely see approximately forever. This piece of land was a particularly ripe piece of kife (definition #2), so we were sitting around, not working very hard, and watching the shadows of clouds hurtle towards us. It was an archetypal sky, a “Simpsons sky”, a friend of mine once called it. The disparity of the soft white clouds scudding happily across the sky and the areas of darkness racing across the earth was something that immediately smacked me in the brain. It was an immediate reminder of the scale of things of the “staring at the night sky” variety.