It was just past mid-March. The little snow we’d had during the winter was already gone.

I found myself in unfamiliar surroundings, surprised by the amount of destruction covering the forest floor: fallen trees, broken trunks, tangled branches, collapsed bushes, twisted vines, and layers of dead grass. It looked as though a tornado had torn through the area some time ago, leaving chaos in its wake.

I thought it might be interesting to observe how nature—though seemingly lifeless—would slowly come back. At the same time, I challenged myself to find photographic order within the visual confusion.

With warmer temperatures and longer days, the dull browns of early spring gradually gave way to clouds of pale greens, yellows, whites, and pinks, before settling into the deeper greens of summer. On the night of April 21, just as many trees were in bloom and new leaves were unfolding, a sudden snowfall blanketed everything. What a sight! But within two days, as if nothing had happened, the forest continued waking up.

Photographically, I was initially drawn to the rough textures of the scene. I used to think my favourite colours were strong—deep reds, blues, blacks—but through this experience, I discovered that soft greens, pale yellows, and earthy browns are also part of me.

During many walks along the trail, it was just nature and me—with a camera. Even though the park lies almost in the middle of the city, there were moments when I could hear nothing but birdsong and breathe air filled with the delicate scents of blooming bushes and trees.

© 2021 Gaetano Antonini