I left Venice early one Winter's morning. The fog was heavy and at times I could only see a few feet in front of me. From time to time, I could hear quick quiet steps of strangers passing by. On the river, shadowy figures glided by as the fog horn sounded. As the fog cleared, I took this photograph across the waters of the Grand Canal.

I searched in vain for the vantage point that would give me the opportunity to show the picturesque town of Lucerne in harmony with the surrounding Swiss Alps. I almost thought I had the point when I found the steps leading to the top of the ancient town walls. Too bad they were closed in Winter! I finally stumbled across a lookout tower, probably designed more for curious kids. I climbed up the steps until I reached the top platform. Finally, I could gaze across Lucerne and silently paid homage to the powerful mountain that commanded my attention: Pilatus.

The Rialto Bridge crossing the Grand Canal of Venice pulses with pedestrians. The crowd seems to move in a singular mass across the bridge. I stepped towards the railing, stopped and watched three gondolas crossing the Canal. The crowd moved around me as I lost sense of time.

One Winter’s evening I wandered along the Seine riverbank with my love. It was a still night and there were artists painting the Notre Dame against the evening sky. I set up my tripod and waited for the right moment to take this photograph.

I crossed a footbridge over the Seine River one Wintery afternoon. There was a moment of peace. The working boats remained moored. People wandered quietly along the river bank.

The Luxembourg Gardens have not changed much over the last 400 years. I imagined the many people who wandered through these gardens, looking for a moment to stop and enjoy life – to feel the sun on their faces and touch the bark on the trees. The gardens are full of people: children floating toy boats on the pond, university students eating lunch, and lovers cuddling on park benches. Despite all the people, it is easy to find some quiet places in the gardens, where you can sit and savour the moment.

I wandered along the foreshore in Williamstown at sunset. It was a warm Summer night, and it was a relief to feel the cool breeze from the water. The lights of West Gate Bridge came on as the colours in the sky changed.

As I sat on shores of Dove Lake, I was mesmerised by the silent mountain as it became a silhouette against the midnight blue sky. I closed my eyes to enjoy to the tranquil evening. When I opened them, the first evening star had risen.

I was on the East coast of Tasmania when I was strangely drawn to this tree. Perhaps it was because the tree was rooted in the red earth and reaching into a cloudy blue sky.

Victoria’s Great Ocean Road is a spectacular drive. I reached this monolithic structure, known as London Bridge, at sunset. The powerful waves smashed loudly against the cliffs. As the cool evening descended, I captured the last light.

The Imperial Gardens are a maze in the midst of downtown Tokyo. We eventually found our way past the outer walls into the inner gardens. They did not disappoint. And in this city of millions, there were only four other people enjoying the last rays of the afternoon sun on a Wintery day.

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The Carnivale revellers were a mass of colourful movement in San Marco Square, seeping into the surrounding alley ways. I suddenly noticed a very still figure, masked and in a burgundy brocade dress. In one hand, there was an ornate handheld mirror and in the other a miniature doll with the same costume. From behind the mask, watchful eyes surveyed the dancing crowd. I wondered whether the eyes were young or old, man or woman.

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Driving along a Tasmanian country road, I noticed this solitary tree. It was a victim of bushfire, but its bare white branches were beautiful and stood in defiant contrast to the hills behind it.

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As the last day light faded, the sky above Cradle Mountain deepened into midnight blue. The boulders on Dove Lake bore silent witness to the beginning of another Summer evening. The only sound I could hear was the gentle lapping of Dove Lake on its pebbly shores.

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