#Landscape Lighting Toronto

[casetagram]

Gazebos - Traditional Patio Mid-sized traditional backyard patio design featuring a gazebo and decking

[theneondreaming]

[cogumellow]

cliffside fog // scarborough, canada // march 2022 // ©

[boy-warbler]

Moving toward the light. Todmorden Mills

[vista-reverie]

Golden Autumn Leaf | Celebrate Fall’s Magic

���� Fall in love with autumn decor! Our Golden Autumn Leaf poster brings a touch of seasonal warmth and elegance to your space. Whether you’re a nature lover or simply enjoy cozy fall vibes, this minimalist design is perfect for any room. Available now in 18x24 inches—shop today and make your walls glow with the colors of fall!

Order now at Vista Reverie!

[saerily]

Front Yard Concrete Pavers Inspiration for a sizable, contemporary front yard with concrete pavers.

[sevenlittledwarfs]

Deck Uncovered in Toronto

Example of a mid-sized minimalist backyard deck design with no cover

[sicilylapse]

Rustic Landscape - Front Yard An example of a large rustic full sun front yard stone garden path in summer.

[imiging]

by Ken Jones, kenjonesphotoblog.tumblr.com

Daily original photographs and creations selected by the imiging team!

Light, Toronto

[canadianabroadvery]

Canadian Geographic 2024 Canadian Photos of the Year: Urban and Natural Landscapes

Winner: Peter Baumgarten, The late afternoon sun paints the sky a moody apricot between the looming silhouettes of two condo towers in Etobicoke, Toronto. From Butterfly Park, the photographer used a super-telephoto lens to focus on the contrast between light and shadow.

Runner-up: Sonny Parker, A storm brews over the Kluane Ranges in Kluane National Park and Reserve, Yukon, as the sun illuminates the Kaskawulsh River valley in gold.

Honourable mention: Brandon Broderick, Trees cast their long cold shadows onto the expanse of a frozen lake near Tumbler Ridge, B.C.

[theneondreaming]

[mpenvs3000w25]

Blog #6: Significance of Acknowledging History in Nature Interpretation

"There is no peculiar merit in ancient things, but there is merit in integrity, and integrity entails the keeping together of the parts of any whole, and if these parts are scattered throughout time, then the maintenance of integrity entails a knowledge, a memory, of ancient things. … To think, feel or act as though the past is done with, is equivalent to believing that a railway station through which our train has just passed, only existed for as long as our train was in it." — Edward Hyams, Chapter 7, The Gifts of Interpretation

This quote challenges the idea that history is only a collection of distant events, irrelevant to the present. Instead, Hyams argues that history is an integral part of continuity, without an awareness of what came before, we risk losing our sense of integrity as individuals, communities, and even as stewards of the land. His metaphor of the railway station illustrates a crucial point, just because we have moved past something does not mean it ceases to exist or no longer matters.

I found that passages in the textbook from Chapter 15: Interpreting History highlight the connection between history and nature interpretation, emphasizing that every natural site has a history, just as every historical site has natural elements. For example, a national park is not just a scenic space but it holds the memories of Indigenous communities, early settlers, and the ecosystems that once thrived in undisturbed harmony (Beck et al., 2018). Recognizing this past allows us to engage with the land more meaningfully rather than treating it as a mere backdrop for recreation.

To truly grasp why history matters, I want to show you a few before-and-after visuals of landscapes. These comparisons will emphasize why looking into the past is essential, not only to understand the present but also to predict trends that shape the future.

Figure 1: Timeline of the health of the Great Barrier Reef, the entire reef has had a steep decline in health due to ocean acidification

Figure 2: Comparision of Toronto's urban area expansion between 1966 (dark pink) and 2000 (light pink)

Figure 3: Comparision of glaciers that have melted over time in Glacier National Park, Montana between 1932 (left) and 2005

The textbook discusses first-person historical interpretation, which requires immersing oneself in the experiences of those who lived in the past (Beck et al., 2018). Whether it’s wearing their clothing, using their tools, or speaking in their manner, the goal is to embody the realities of another time (Beck et al., 2018). This same principle applies to nature interpretation, we have to step beyond our present day perspective to understand the broader timeline of a place. Just as historical interpreters strive to bring the past to life through human experiences, we should approach landscapes with the same awareness, recognizing that what we see today is just one moment in a much longer story.

By looking at these before-and-after comparisons, it becomes clear that nature is not static, its past informs its present and helps us anticipate the future. Acknowledging history, whether cultural or environmental, ensures that we don’t view the past as fragmented or irrelevant but rather as a continuous thread that shapes our understanding. Nature interpretation, is about maintaining integrity, keeping the whole story together so we can appreciate where we are, where we’ve been, and where we might be headed!

Do you think there are other historical or environmental changes that should be highlighted when interpreting nature? Is there anything you feel I may have overlooked in discussing the importance of acknowledging history in landscapes?

Reference:

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018). Interpreting cultural and natural heritage: For A Better World. SAGAMORE Publishing, Sagamore Venture.

[trulybetty]

oct' 31 x trick or treat

Prompt: trick or treat (something sweet this way comes p.III) Pairing: marcus pike x f!Reader Word Count: 2,524 Warnings: barely beta'd is the name of the game, all mistakes are my own. mentions of baking, a tiny dash of spice, no spoilers here 💕 Summary: maplewood, a small town nestled in northern bc where people flock to see the changing blossom trees and celebrate the fall season. after losing your job you find yourself a part of the community which includes the towns baker who left a less than stellar impression on you. AO3: coming soon

A/N: It's here! The conclusion to this terribly sweet Marcus Pike story and my October prompts!

x. masterlist x. something sweet this way comes part I x. something sweet this way comes part II

As October inched towards its end, the energy in Maplewood shifted towards an almost palpable excitement. Fairy lights had been strung up between the buildings, ghosts and witches dangled from the trees, and pumpkins of all shapes and sizes sat proudly in shop windows.

You had thrown yourself with full vigour into your job search, declaring that your sabbatical in Maplewood would need to come to an end at some point. So you’d dusted off your resume, worked on cover letters and created many alerts of vacancies between Toronto and Vancouver.

And then, the offer came. A job back in Toronto. On paper, it was everything you had been working towards: good pay, room for advancement, a chance to move back to the bustling metropolis you knew so well.

Just two months ago, you would have snatched it up without a second thought. But things had changed. Maplewood had seeped into your bones; the small-town charm, the sense of community, and the friendships you'd formed had given you a newfound perspective on what ‘home’ could mean.

Adding another layer to your already complicated emotional landscape, was Libby.

“You know,” she said one evening, “the tourism board has an opening. It's in digital marketing,” Libby continued as you both sat in the living room above the bookstore, you with a new mystery novel and her with a cup of herbal tea. “They're expanding their team, and I thought of you immediately. You'd be perfect for it.”

You looked up from your book, “That does sound interesting,” you admitted, your mind racing as you weighed the options.

“Just think about it,” Libby advised, noting your indecision. “You don't have to make up your mind right away.”

But time was not a luxury you had. The job in Toronto needed an answer soon, and the Trick or Treat Parade was just around the corner, a reminder that life in Maplewood moved at its own pace, whether you were ready or not.

And then there was Marcus.

Amidst the excitement for the end of the month Trick or Treat Parade, you had successfully managed to avoid Marcus for the most part since your stint at the bakery.

Whether by luck or meticulous planning, you had kept your interactions brief and formal, a kind of self-imposed exile to protect yourself from... well, you still weren't exactly sure what you were protecting yourself from.

It wasn’t without his efforts either - he’d turned up the afternoon of the Jack-o-Lantern hunt. Libby had been sitting at the counter when she’d glanced up at the store's window seeing Marcus look both ways before jogging across the street. Eyebrows raised, she turned to you, “Marcus is coming over. Do you want me to—”

“Yes,” you interrupted, not even needing to hear the rest, “Libby, you just have to promise me, if Marcus asks for me, say I'm not here, okay?”

Libby chuckled but nodded. “You got it.”

You retreated to the back of the shop, behind rows of bookshelves and out of sight. Moments later, you heard the chime of the front door bell, announcing Marcus' arrival.

“Hey Libby, is—ah, never mind,” Marcus started, seeming to catch himself mid-sentence.

“She's not here,” Libby confirmed, her voice carrying to your hiding spot. “Can I help you with something?”

“Ah, just wanted to drop these off,” Marcus replied. You could almost hear the crinkling of paper, imagining him setting down one of his signature boxes of baked goods on the counter. “For both of you. Consider it a thank you for the help last week.”

“Sure, I'll let her know,” Libby said, slightly hesitant, as if balancing on a tightrope of truth and discretion.

Just as you were thinking you might've pulled off the perfect vanishing act, you accidentally knocked over a stack of newly arrived books with a loud crash. You winced, cursing your clumsiness under your breath.

Back at the front of the store, Marcus raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Libby cleared her throat, a little flushed, “Oh, it must be the mice. I've been meaning to deal with that.”

Marcus' voice floated back, laced with a knowing skepticism. “Mice?”

“Uh huh,” Libby nodded.

He gave her a pointed look, “It sounds like a rather large mouse.”

Libby stuttered a response, “I mean, did you see that picture of that rat eating pizza in that New York subway?”

With a departing chime of the bell, Marcus finally left after his conversation with Libby finished, and you waited a full minute before emerging from your hiding spot, guilt written all over your face.

Libby looked at you, then at the box Marcus had left on the counter. “So, what gives? Why are we avoiding Marcus?”

You sighed, finally letting your guard down. “I almost kissed him.”

Libby's eyes widened, her expression shifting from surprise to excitement and then she let out made you wince, “I knew it! I knew you two would be good for each other.”

“Libby, it's complicated,” you said, hoping to dial down her enthusiasm a notch or two.

“What's so complicated?” She nudged the box toward you, lifting the lid to reveal an array of doughnuts and pastries, each more inviting than the last. “The guy leaves you doughnuts, and you're practically swooning. Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”

“It's not about the doughnuts, or the almost-kiss, or any of that,” you said, searching for the right words. "It's about me. I'm confused. I came here to escape my old life, remember? To take a break and figure things out. And suddenly, I'm considering jobs here, thinking about staying in Maplewood, and—”

“Marcus Pike.” Libby finished for you, her eyes softening.

“And Marcus Pike,” you conceded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you admitted it out loud. “Everything was straightforward, come here and take a break, find a job and get back to life, and now? Now it’s like my compass is spinning in every direction and I have no clue what I’m doing.”

Libby moved closer, her eyes sincere. “Look, life doesn’t always fit into neat boxes, and that’s okay. Sometimes the messy parts are what leads us to the most beautiful things.”

“You’re such a romantic, you’ve been hanging around these books too long,” you said, half-teasing but also touched by her words.

“And you’re a realist,” she said with a grin, “That’s why we get along. But sometimes, realists need to let their guard down and see where life takes them,” she replied, pushing the box of pastries closer to you.

You picked one up and took a tentative bite, your thoughts swirling almost as much as the cinnamon in the pastry. As you chewed, you found yourself reflecting on Libby’s words. There was a truth to them that resonated deep within you.

“So, what’s your plan?” Libby finally asked after you’d savoured your bite.

“Plan? Who says I have a plan?” you retorted, a smile creeping onto your face.

“That’s the spirit,” Libby cheered, raising her tea cup in a mock toast.

You clinked your doughnut against her cup.

But as the evening wore on, and you found yourself scrolling through job listings again, your cursor hovered over the tab with the Maplewood tourism board job. What would it be like to build a life here? To become part of this community, to wake up every morning in this sleepy but charming town, and possibly, to explore what it and its residents had to offer?

It was the night of the Trick or Treat parade in the town square.

The evening air was crisp, filled with the smell of autumn leaves and the sugary scent of candy. The Maplewood Town Square had been transformed into a wonderland of Halloween festivities, with strings of orange lights illuminating the dusk, and tables adorned with pumpkins and fall decorations. Kids in costumes scurried about, their laughter and the chatter of their parents filling the air.

You adjusted your witch's hat, the extent of your commitment to dressing up for the occasion. Libby, in contrast, had gone all out, embodying Where's Waldo with red-and-white stripes and a matching beanie. She looked at you and chuckled, "You could've tried a little harder than just a hat."

“I'm wearing all black. That counts for something,” you said, defending your minimalistic approach.

The two of you mingled through the crowd, stopping at various tables to admire the creativity of your neighbors. Your heart thumped a little harder when you saw Marcus’s booth up ahead. He was standing behind a table, handing out intricately designed Halloween sugar cookies to a line of eager children.

“I suppose,” Libby mused, her eyes scanning the crowd as she munched on a caramel apple.

You felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach. You'd run into Marcus a couple days earlier when you’d both awkwardly bumped into each other at the grocery store. Just when you thought you might be able to say something, Ella, who owned the diner, popped between the two of you, asking Marcus about his glazed doughnuts, and you'd taken that as your cue to leave, losing your nerve.

Since then, you'd been keeping an eye out for him but with the town's festivities in full swing for the end of the month it was one missed opportunity after the other and left you feeling that the universe seemed to be giving you every sign that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't meant to be.

And tonight seemed like it was going down the same road.

Marcus looked engrossed now in a conversation with another parent, and you felt that familiar tension creep back in. Just as you thought of moving on, he looked up, catching your eye. For a moment, it was as if the world paused, his gaze locking onto yours. Your heart picked up speed, a sense of anticipation rising.

And then someone screamed, which was followed by the sound of laughter.

All eyes snapped to the spectacle of the haunted house across the way, the moment shattered. When you looked back at Marcus, he was once again absorbed in his work, handing out cookies to a trio of young witches.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath.

Libby glanced at you, then over at Marcus surrounded by children eager to fill their bags with treats, “Come on,” she said softly as she hooked arms with you, “Let’s go get some hot cider.”

As the evening wore on, you felt a series of missed chances piling up. It was almost getting humorous.  Every time you managed to get close to Marcus's table, he, or you were pulled away—including Sarah, who’d shown up with her arm in a sling wanting to know about your week in the bakery, and then by the Mayor, who wanted to thank Marcus for his contribution to the event.

Finally, resigning yourself to another missed opportunity, you told yourself it was for the best. It was easier this way—easier to keep Marcus at a distance, safely contained within the realm of 'what could have been' rather than risk the messiness of 'what could be.'

As the clock neared the end of the evening, you and Libby began the trek back to her apartment above the bookstore. Libby looked at you, her expression thoughtful. “You know, sometimes when the universe gives you signs, it's not to deter you but to test how much you really want something—or someone.”

You paused, letting her words sink in. Maybe she was right. Maybe these obstacles weren't stop signs but hurdles, gauging whether you'd leap or turn back.

Once you were inside, you looked out the window across the street to Marcus's bakery, now dark but for a single light on in the back.

You didn’t stop to think it through.

Instead you grabbed your jacket, telling Libby to lock up and you'd be back and headed out the door.

As you stepped out into the cool night, a newfound resolve settled in. If the universe was testing you, then it was time to pass with flying colours. And with that, you walked towards the bakery, not knowing what awaited you but ready to find out.

Standing outside the bakery door you paused for a moment, if only to take a deep breath before you knocked the door, hoping it was loud enough to be heard out back.

You heard him shout from the back, “I've got nothing left Bill, Frank will have to go without!”

You knocked again.

When the sound of hurried footsteps drew nearer, Marcus appeared with a perturbed look until he saw you standing there. His eyes widened with surprise as he opened the door.

“Hey,” you said, your voice tinged with a nervous energy you couldn't quite suppress. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” Marcus said, stepping back to let you in.

The bakery felt cozy, its lingering scent of baked goods filling the air as you stepped inside, closing the door behind you.

You hesitated, your gaze falling on the miniature decorative ghosts that decorated the now empty display case. “I think I owe you an apology,” you started.

“What for?”

You licked your lips nervously before turning back to him, “For avoiding you.”

He smiled knowingly, “I had noticed your lack of presence every time I happened to come into the bookstore. I think Libby was starting to run out reasons for your absence.”

You laughed, “Despite living and breathing books, surprisingly creativity is not always her strongest suit.”

“That it's not.”

You smiled and continued, “I guess…” you trailed off trying to find the words, “we almost kissed…” you stuttered, still trying to find the right words.

“And why would that be a reason to avoid me? It felt like you wanted to as much as I did?”

“I did,” you admitted, “but it was complicated.”

“Complicated?”

You chewed at your lip, “Because I've had an offer to take a job back in Toronto.”

“Oh,” the disappointment in his voice was impossible to miss.

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations,” he started, trying to sound more upbeat, “you've always said it was your plan.”

You paused, “Well, it was.”

He cocked an eyebrow in confusion, “Was?”

You offered him a bashful smile, “You're looking at the newest digital marketing coordinator for the Maplewood tourism board.”

“Congratulations again,” he laughed.

“Thank you.”

Another silence fell between you, the tension in the room palpable.

Marcus looked at you, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it felt like hope. “So, where does that leave us?”

You took a step closer. “I think that leaves us at the beginning of something. Something I’m willing to explore, that is if you are?”

Marcus closed the gap, his hands finding your face, his touch warm and grounding. “Then let’s start at the beginning.”

As your lips met, it felt like the answer to an unspoken question, a missing piece slotting into place.

And as you kissed, soft and tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters, the uncertainties and what-ifs seemed to melt away, leaving only the palpable sense of a new chapter unfolding.

[bagopucks]

M. Marner - Light My Love

✄————————————

Mitch Marner x Fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning(s): none!

It felt like such a Mitch song, and I wanted to do something real tiny before going on to new requests!

—————————————

Can you light my love?

Flames glowing bright as the sun

Deeper than oceans you run

Watch as our world has begun

I was an art major, but my art never had feeling behind it. It was my passion, but somewhere along the line, I forgot passion in the midst of work. In the midst of going through the motions. I lost my motive and love for the things I made. My works had beauty, but they had no fire. They had no feeling.

Until I met Mitch.

My classmates often said the things they loved were their muses. Pets, music, books and movies, family or friends. Lovers.

Mitch was my friend, but he was too vast. Looking at him was overwhelming. Mitch was his own work of art. Made up of the elements. The ocean in his eyes and the earth in his hair. The wind that followed his stride on skates, and the fire that represented itself in the heat radiating off his skin any time of day.

He was vast, made up of cuts from all types of fabrics, his mind ran deeper than one could possibly imagine. His pain, shortcomings, and strife made him the man he was. Likewise, his accomplishments, past, and those who loved him. Every moment in his life shaped him. Mitch was like a ten page essay. Just when you got the motivation to start, you’d look at the ten empty pages and feel too overwhelmed to continue.

That’s how it felt when I pulled out a blank canvas and decided to use Mitch as my muse. It was blank, and I didn’t know where to begin. Or how to paint him. There was too much of him to cover, and I felt I’d never have enough paint to do it all.

When I met Mitch, I wanted to know him completely. From head to toe. From mind to heart. He became my next project.

Your mind is a stream of colors

Extending beyond our sky

A land of infinite wonders

A billion lightyears from here now

The days spent in cafe’s, dinky diners, and the living area of my apartment, were ones I looked forward to. I found myself asking Mitch about himself nonstop, and most questions he asked about me were pushed aside with quick or rushed answers.

I found that he was such a creative and lighthearted person. Full of childish wonder and boyish charm. He’d play nonstop if the world let him. Which I assumed was why he chose hockey as his career. Mitch loved touring me around Toronto, showing me things to take pictures of and explaining what he found beauty in and why.

In the late evenings, we found ourselves caught up in conversations of wild theories and subjective beliefs. If he believed in aliens. Which planets he wanted to visit. Who he thought built the pyramids and which conspiracy theories he believed or laughed at. Mitch’s mind worked a mile a minute.

He liked to tell me of all of his ideas for new workout routines, little senseless inventions he thought would be beneficial to life, and of all the things he wanted to try and experience.

Whoa, light my love

Whoa, light my love

My art adopted a brighter complexion each time I spent a new day with Mitch.

There was something about him and the way he saw the world, that was awfully refreshing.

I have seen pictures of time

The frames still in motion I find

A grand revolution outlined

Hate bound by fear will unwind

Through time I fell in love with Mitch and his beautiful mind. My pictures shifted from tourist spots and landscapes, to those of him that I snuck on nights out and nights in.

I could scroll through the photos and recall memories of each moment.

A photo of him mid laugh, hands held over the sink covered in white powder while there was some on his face and in his hair. The rest of the mess on the counter. I had been trying to help him learn to cook, and we ended up in a flower fight.

I had another photo of him. An ‘aerial’ view, where his head had been in my lap, a blanket pulled over his body but his bare shoulders peeked out just enough to know he was shirtless. I took that one after Mitch had showed up on my apartment doorstep, sore and miserable after a hard game. We became so comfortable with one another that he didn’t bat an eye when I invited him into my room to watch a movie and get a back rub.

My favorite photo of Mitch, was the one that finally allowed me to see him completely and clearly as my muse. The one that helped me bundle all of Mitch in his entirety, into one photo. Into one work of art.

A still of him in my art studio, the sun illuminating his figure from the skylights above. He was sat on the linen cloth I had spread across the stained wood floors, a canvas laid out that I told him he could use while I worked. The canvas had a brown blob on it with big orange eyes, and a white bandanna. The only reason I knew what it was is because Mitch never shut up about his dog. Little old Zeus, who I had the luxury of meeting on multiple occasions when we went for walks.

I took the picture when I turned to check on him, his face all scrunched up and focused. I captured the photo just after he’d gone to itch his cheek, smearing the brown he used for Zeus across his cheekbone. He looked so relaxed, and yet so happy at the same time. Content to do nothing with me but still do something in the same room.

I decided to use Mitch as a figurative muse first. So I painted him as things he reminded me of. When he asked about what I was doing for the art final, I never told him, and he only got fussy when I wouldn’t let him in my studio to see either. I invited him to the college’s gallery presentation of the art finals when the night came. I told him I was wearing baby blue, and he was welcome to do the same.

I told my teacher, that my plan was to reveal the final piece of my project at the viewing. That my final piece would be my ‘inspiration.’

The only reason she gave me an exception was because she said she saw a real improvement and emotion in my art. That in all the four years she taught me, she was incredibly proud and excited to see what had brought back my passion and desire to continue to create.

We were both hopeful that the moment, when it came, would go well.

Your mind is a stream of colors

Extending beyond our sky

A land of infinite wonders

A billion lightyears from here now

“Mitch!” I whisper-shouted over mumbling parents and guardians, lovers and friends. The showing was hosted in the library, big enough to house all of the art, and the right setting to let people know it wasn’t supposed to be loud. Those that came in mostly spent time looking at the art of who they came for.

I was stood somewhere around the middle of the room, my various pieces set up on easels I brought from my apartment, and one toward the end of my display still covered by a sheet.

Mitch quickly walked down the few steps by the door, swift to slip though the crowd to meet me by my displays. He wrapped his arms around my hips, and my own flew over his shoulders.

Our blues didn’t entirely match, but it was closer than I expected them to be. I wore a baby blue dress with a flowing skirt that stopped just above the knees, the sleeves made of lace that hugged my wrists and a bodice that hugged my torso and hips.

“Hey, so sorry I’m a little late.” I shook my head as I pulled away. I took a moment to examine Mitch’s outfit. Black slacks and a baby blue polo. I straightened his collar. He smiled bashfully.

“Don’t worry about it, Mitchell.” I teased quietly, barely able to contain my excitement. He could tell, and it made him all the more smiley than before.

“So? Can I finally see this stuff?”

“Goodness, Mitch.. I’ve been waiting so long.” My heart rate picked up. In this moment, I was more worried about him not liking my art, than the possibility of failing my last final. I reached for his hands, took them in my own, and stepped a few paces back. I led him toward the first canvas, his eyes already looking over my shoulder at the art before I could inform him of what it was.

“That was from our first hike.” His pearly smile made me giggle as he spoke. I let go of his hands and turned to look at the first painting. I considered a hike something to be done in mountains and wooded areas, but Mitch and I had walked for a while down the coastline that day. He tried to prove to me that a ‘hike’ didn’t have to be an incline.

“How’d you do that?” He reached out to run his fingers across the grooves and divots of dried oil paint. I had never painted with textures before, but I felt it was one of the many elements I needed to properly represent Mitch and all of his layers.

My eyes examined him, as he examined my art. That same wonder I used to see when he discussed his own passions, now presented itself in his eyes as he took in my creation. I hadn’t realized I became one of his new passions over time.

I reached for Mitch’s hand again, taking it and guiding him to the next piece.

“This one might be a little harder to guess-“

“You took pictures of this one when I was over at your place.” I was astounded by his attention to detail. “It had just finished raining outside. You said you liked the yellow in the clouds.”

We made eye contact. I couldn’t have been smiling any wider, and Mitch looked oddly proud of himself for remembering such a random detail.

“What’s the last one?” He was the first to break our eye contact, nodding behind me to the canvas covered by cloth. The same linen from my studio floor.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna get a snack or drink first?” I tried, my hand subconsciously squeezing Mitch’s.

“Come on. I’ve been waiting for like- a month to see all this.” He didn’t have to beg or ask much. I gave in quite easily. I took a step back, my breath caught in my lungs as I reached with my free hand to hoist the cloth up over the canvas.

“Okay.. but- I did my best. It’s not perfect.”

My third and final oil painting. Of Mitch in the middle of my studio floor. I used the photo I took of him, but in the background I added other elements. His jersey draped over the empty easel, and a pair of paint stained skates hanging from my wood shelves. I included the pair of his favorite slippers, a can or two of Red Bull, and a rolled up yoga mat. My favorite addition though, was the tiny details of our photos together, painted so they looked to be tapped up on the wall in the background.

I clenched my jaw while Mitch looked, his brow furrowing at first. Then his head tilted. I worried he wouldn’t like it, and his initial reaction had me pulling my hand away from his own.

Then his brow smoothed, and he stepped closer, eyes squinting to catch all the tiny details. His lips turned upward. He looked at me. I offered an uncertain smile.

“What made you do this?”

Whoa, light my love

Whoa, light my love

“You..” I shrugged. “You became my muse. I needed something to bring the feeling back into everything. My art, my life.. I didn’t really expect it to be you. But it was.” I looked back at the painting. “I caught this photo of you a little while back. I added some of your favorite things in there. Figured I didn’t need to include Zeus because you already had him in your own little painting.” I teased softly in hopes of easing my own tension. Mitch laughed softly.

He stepped up by my side, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“It’s really cool.. but you’re missing something, ya know?” His question had me raising my brow as I looked up at him. He looked down at me.

“Can’t have all my favorite things without you.” My heart skipped a beat, I giggled bashfully.

“Mitch-“

“I’m serious. Nothing else matters if you’re not there too.” He turned his body to face my own, and I found myself stumbling over my own thoughts. I was supposed to be the poetic and meaningful one. And yet I couldn’t think of a single thing.

“It’s almost perfect.” He continued, and I found the courage to meet his eyes.

I decided to test him. To be certain.

“What would make it perfect?” I was hesitant. Hot all over, trying not to crash and burn.

“If you’d be mine.”

“God Mitch..” I breathed out in relief. He looked panicked for a moment, worried he’d crossed a boundary. I eased his nerves by springing forward to connect our lips. His hands raised to his sides in a concerned motion, before he relaxed and returned the kiss, his hands found my hips with ease.

One of my hands held his face, the other on his shoulder. By the time I felt satisfied, I pulled away breathlessly. Mitch’s wide eyes stared me down, smiles slow to find both of our lips.

“You came just when I needed you.”

“I like you so much.”

“I really like you too”

I really needed to pass that final, but it was the last thing on my mind.

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