In an era of instant selfies, it can be hard to remember there was a time that when you were looking at the camera, someone else was looking back at you.
Back when I was a kid I received a home darkroom developing kit. Last weekend, I decided to haul it up from the basement. I found a paper envelope in the kit. Inside, a black and white negative.
As long as I remember, these towering sentinels have stood watch over the town. At bedtime, I would gaze into the darkness to find reassurance in those patient silhouettes. Beneath them, the industry that gave the town its life and its livelihood banged and thumped and hummed hypnotically.
What if you could go back in time? What if, one day, when you were a grown-up, you went back to your old home and climbed the ladder into your parents’ attic? What ghosts will you find there?
Deep in the recesses of my mind is a distant memory of a place my parents took me to once. It was a beautiful place, a canyon with groomed pathways, a lush garden, and a long waterfall.
Hidden in the back lanes of downtown Trail, British Columbia, dozens of colourful bicycles ride a whimsical tour.