Crystal Ball Storys

Alma Through the Crystal Ball One of my favorite places to visit is Alma, New Brunswick. No matter how many times I go throughout the year, it never loses its magic. The tide rolling in and out, the fishing boats resting in the harbor, the salty sea air—it’s a place that instantly slows me down and clears my head. Whenever I visit Alma, I bring my crystal ball with me. It’s become part of how I experience the place and how I see it. Crystal ball photography is one of my favorite creative outlets, and one particular photo I took there stands out as one of my favorite the green fishing boat. There’s something special about capturing a familiar landscape in a completely different way, almost like holding a tiny world in your hand. The trick to getting the shot is simpler than it looks, but it takes practice. I focus the camera on the ball itself, holding it steady with one hand, and carefully center the subject inside it. The key lesson I’ve learned is that you have to be closer than you think—closer to the ball, closer to the scene, and more present in the moment. Alma gives me the perfect setting for that. Between the tide, the boats, and the quiet rhythm of the coast, it’s a place where creativity comes naturally. Every visit feels familiar, yet every photo tells a slightly different story.

The House That Time Let Go There was an old abandoned farmhouse that stood quietly along the road, weathered and leaning, slowly giving in to time. It’s no longer there now. A fire took what was left of it, and with that, any future chance to stop, look, and wonder disappeared. I feel deeply grateful that I had the opportunity to capture it before it was gone. That house always made me pause. I couldn’t help but think about the stories those old walls must have held—the lives that were lived there, the laughter, the struggles, the everyday moments that once filled its rooms. Even in its falling state, it carried a presence, like it was still holding onto memories long after everyone had left. Photography gave me a way to preserve that feeling. One of my favorite images of the house was taken using my crystal ball. Seeing the farmhouse framed inside the glass felt symbolic, like I was holding its entire history in my hand. The ball captured not just the structure, but the sense of time passing and the fragile beauty of something that wouldn’t last forever. Now, every time I pass by where the house once stood, I feel its absence. There’s no longer an opportunity to photograph it, to study its details, or to let my imagination wander. All that remains are the memories—and the images I was lucky enough to take. That old house may be gone, but through photography, a part of it still lives on. And I’m thankful I listened to the quiet pull to stop, look, and capture it when I did.

A Frozen Horizon at Grand Lake On my way to Fredericton, New Brunswick, I made a last-minute decision to take a drive out to Grand Lake. It was late March, that in-between time when winter still has a strong grip. When I arrived, the entire lake was frozen solid, covered in white snow that stretched as far as I could see. The sky that day was a deep, clear blue—no clouds, no distractions. The horizon was almost perfectly straight, a clean dividing line between blue and white, broken only by small pieces of land on each side. The scene felt quiet and endless, like the world had been simplified down to its most basic shapes and colors. I pulled out my crystal ball to capture the moment, lining it up carefully with the horizon. That’s when I learned an important lesson: the sun is not your friend when using a crystal ball. With the sunlight focused through the glass, it can burn—through gloves and skin if you’re not careful. It was a reminder of just how powerful light can be, and how much respect it demands. Despite that, the photo was worth it. The crystal ball turned the frozen lake and perfect horizon into something almost unreal, like a miniature world suspended in glass. It took a vast, open landscape and made it feel both intimate and infinite at the same time. That day at Grand Lake taught me more than just a photography trick. It reminded me that some of the most unique images come from slowing down, paying attention, and being willing to pull over when something feels right—even when the cold still lingers in the air.

Mama and Papa Snowmen While walking through downtown Fredericton, New Brunswick, I was following a park path along the Saint John River when something small but special stopped me in my tracks. Along the path, someone had built snowmen—simple, quiet creations left behind for others to discover. The moment I saw them, I knew instantly I had to capture it with my crystal ball. There was something about the way they stood together that felt intentional, almost like a little family posed just for whoever happened to notice. When I framed them inside the crystal ball, the scene came together perfectly. playful, and full of personality. I call this photo Mama and Papa Snowmen, and it’s one of those images that makes me smile every time I look at it. It wasn’t planned. There was no big setup or dramatic landscape—just a walk, an open mind, and the willingness to stop when something felt right. That’s one of the biggest lessons photography keeps teaching me: you just never know what will make a great photo. Sometimes it’s a vast frozen lake or an abandoned farmhouse, and sometimes it’s two snowmen quietly standing along a river path, waiting to be noticed. The best images often come when you least expect them—when you’re simply present, paying attention, and ready to see beauty in the ordinary.

Sunset Over the Petitcodiac In Riverview, New Brunswick, overlooking the Petitcodiac River, I found another perfect opportunity to use my crystal ball—this time at sunset, one of the best moments of the day for crystal ball photography. As the light softened and the sun dropped lower, everything came together naturally. The curve of the river guided the eye through the scene, while a beautiful tree line followed its shape, creating a sense of flow and balance. Then there was the sky. The orange tones were overwhelming in the best possible way, filling the horizon with warmth and depth. It was one of those sunsets that demands your full attention, the kind you feel more than you see. Through the crystal ball, the entire scene transformed. The colors became richer, the curves more pronounced, and the reflection felt almost painterly. Holding that glowing world in my hand made the moment feel intimate, like I was capturing something fleeting and rare before it slipped away. This photograph stands out as one of my best crystal ball images so far. Not just because of the color or the composition, but because everything aligned—the light, the landscape, and the timing. It’s a reminder of why sunset is such a powerful time for photography, especially when working with glass and light. Moments like this don’t last long, but photography gives us a way to hold onto them—if only in a small, shining sphere.

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