ode to a cold sunday afternoon

autumn is almost gone

One of the loveliest things to do, when you live in a magical city full of little corners to explore and places with warm croissants and hot chocolates, is to meet with your photographer friend, Mags, and look at everything with a different eye. Of course, during the week, running from the bookshop to the wine shop, back home, does not give you a lot of time to lose yourself in contemplation.

That Sunday afternoon, I am walking down the hills of Edinburgh, listening to The Staves whom I have just seen in concert, two days earlier. Their voices have the power to turn everything into poetry and enhance the beauty of the little things of life. The Autumn leaves are flying around, the sun warms up my cheeks in between the naked branches, and I know I will see you again in the long run. It is a crispy hour and in this pure cold, everything feels light and easy.

The Fruit Market Gallery is filled with curiosities and modern thoughts, playful lights and unusual books. The exhibition is taking us from one circle of light to another, while we talk about our work, projects and lovers. Tigers and strange plants are our favourite postcards subjects and as we joke about the pretty nipples mugs, we leave for cups of coffee that we could probably turn into swimming pools. Mags is a real sunshine, a wonderful soul unaware of her own beauty, searching for it in everybody she meets - which makes her a talented photographer. She attracts people with her smile.

The rain is pouring and little drops fall on my eyelashes, transforming reality into a blurry seventies show, made of streetlights and slow motion. Somebody painted the sky pink and my friend takes me on the top of a spiral staircase with the most sentimental view of the city. Waverley Station lays at our feet and its infinite roof of mirrors reflects the clouds. It is the perfect time to take a photo.

A moment that captured my soft pale afternoon of croissants, postcards and pink skies.