Every October, Winnipeg seems to set itself on fire — not with heat, but with colour. The trees along the riverbanks and boulevards burst into brilliant reds, yellows, and deep oranges that seem almost too vivid to be real. It’s the kind of light that makes you stop mid-step, tilt your head back, and just breathe it in — that golden shimmer that lasts only a few short weeks before winter takes hold again.
For many of us who grew up in the Far North, these trees still feel like a kind of magic. Up there, the landscape is open and wide — endless tundra, low willows, the soft greys and greens of moss and stone. Beautiful, yes, but different. The first time we saw a Manitoba maple blazing crimson or a canopy of gold trembling over the river trail, it was like stepping into a painting. It’s no wonder this season has become our favourite time of year for photography.
Everywhere you look, the city transforms into a living gallery. The Assiniboine trails, the streets in Wolseley, even the back alleys seem to glow in late afternoon light. Cameras come out, and so do the stories — of autumns we never had growing up, of colours we’re still learning to name, of how something as simple as a tree can make a place feel like home.
And then, just as suddenly, it’s gone. The leaves scatter in the wind, the light fades early, and the air smells of frost. But the photos remain — small, bright reminders that for a few fleeting weeks each year, Winnipeg burns in the most beautiful way imaginable.
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