Coming Home to Autumn

Coming Home to Autumn

There's something about stepping off the plane in Sweden in October that feels like wrapping yourself in a favourite old sweater. The air has that particular crispness—sharp enough to wake you up, soft enough to make you want to linger outside just a bit longer.

I've spent years photographing families under Singapore's eternal summer sun, and I love it deeply. But being back here now, watching the world transform in ways that tropical seasons never quite do, I'm reminded of what I've been missing. The way autumn doesn't just arrive—it unfolds, slowly, deliberately, like a story being told in shades of amber and rust.

This morning, I walked through the forest near my childhood home. The fog hung low between the trees, turning everything soft and dreamlike. Each leaf underfoot told its own small story of change—from green to gold to that particular shade of brown that crunches just right. There's a scent here too, something earthy and ancient, of things returning to the soil to begin again.

In Singapore, I've learned to read light differently. To chase the golden hour before the sudden tropical nightfall, to work with humidity that softens everything. But here, the light stretches and lingers. It slants through the trees at angles that make you stop and breathe. The kind of light that makes you feel something shifting, both in the landscape and somewhere deeper.

I think that's what I love most about seasons—they remind us that change is not only natural, it's beautiful. That letting go (of leaves, of summer, of one chapter) makes space for something new. That transformation doesn't have to be sudden or dramatic to be profound.

These few weeks home have stirred something in me. The way certain places can, you know? As if the land itself is whispering something you'd forgotten you knew.

I'll be back in Singapore soon, camera in hand, ready to capture your family's moments in our familiar sunshine. But I'm carrying this autumn light with me, tucked somewhere close to my heart. And who knows? Perhaps some seasons are meant to teach us where we truly belong.

For now, I'm grateful—for fog-wrapped mornings, for leaves that know exactly when to let go, and for the quiet wisdom of coming home, even if just for a little while.

What's your favourite season? I'd love to hear what you love most about the way the world changes around you.