Just over a year ago, I wrote a piece here outlining the history, importance, and final degeneration of Toronto's Hearn Thermal Power Station. In err, I had assumed that my many years of photo-documenting its decline from activity to decay were at their end.

On a recent journey back to the site, however, I realized that although much hollowed (even since my last visit), substantial portions of the space remain standing. The sense of scale in this building is almost unfathomable, and always leaves me in awe. I have spoken to many of the workers (whether plant or demolition), and they all seem to agree on this point: no matter how many times one returns, it is a perennial shock to bear witness to its mass.

My love/hate relationship with super-sized industrial machinery likely began when I was about four years old. While visiting Cape Kennedy with my folks in Florida, they thought it would be a wonderful idea to surprise me with an up-close look at a NASA Space Crawler. After I had finished wetting myself and shielding my eyes, I began to peek through my fingers...

Skip ahead 22 years to this past weekend, when what began as a short-cut between between two abandoned buildings in Toronto's Junction turned into an auspicious detour that revealed some very impressive, very large construction equipment near the railway line.

In lieu of my yearly saunter down into the Don Valley to take snaps of the changing colours of the leaves, I decided instead to do something a little different. Me and a friend climbed over 50 floors in order to gain a more holistic view of fall in Toronto.

As opposed to my usual spread for the season -- macro shots of the red, yellow and green hues, with the usual smattering of twigs, branches and joggers in the background -- I was able instead to appreciate the not-so-greenery from an incredible height.

Haunted places are in vogue this time of year, so with Halloween fast approaching, I thought I'd share some of the beautiful yet terrifying abandoned places I've visited recently.

The longer a place rests unused and unseen, the more mysterious the items inside become; the longer the interval between being lost and found, the more imagination one must employ to create a story surrounding it. Since time distorts what it cannot destroy, even the items that remain in an abandoned building seem strange, out of place, and uncanny.

Telling stories about such objects becomes necessary, then, as the human mind refuses to accept total abandonment: we insist on furnishing an imagined genealogy for the orphaned objects that cross our paths.

In a way, ghost stories can be read as metaphors for the feelings that these objects and places evoke. Although they may be dismissed as mere superstition, I believe that on some level they reflect our imagination's need to see life in the lifeless.

Ever since I was a small child, when a trip to downtown Toronto seemed such a glorious affair, I have been drawn to the Canada Life building at Queen and University. Built in 1931, with its beckoning weather beacon installed in the early 50s, it serves as headquarters to Canada's oldest insurance company. Since its creation, a hideous modernist complex was erected to house the expanding organization just West, creating a very interesting contrast with the beautiful old building.

Compared to what has arisen in the city since, the 320-foot tall structure may not seem such a giant, yet it still offers a very impressive and unique view of the area just north of the business district.

There are few things in our built environment quite as sad as abandoned houses... such as downtown Toronto's George Street Thomas Meredith House.

Anyone familiar with the area around Thomas Meredith House is aware of its degeneration over the past few decades, and unlike some, I do not believe in revitalization in the form of poutine. Even so, this rough area is home to some truly hidden gems (no, not Filmore's).