View allAll Photos Tagged Cold
Freezing cold morning in December. Somewhere near Geldermalsen, Guelders.
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Dry and colder this morning, approximately 19F.
No wind, no snow.
Keeping my toes and fingers crossed that we will get clear "core ice" this winter, and it looks promising for now.
Using 12800 ISO did not help the exposure one bit. I had sat down and had it figured but I left out the cold factor . Both me and the camera were cold as heck by the time we got home. When I got in the house my glasses and the front element of the lens fogged up .
Really cold weather lately, not safe to stay out for long. Battery resellers must be doing ok round now with this cold. Lots of stalling and boosting going on.
He stood on the edge of the world, a lone figure suspended between sky and stone. Before him sprawled New Zealand's Southern Alps, their peaks — Poseidon, Sarpedon, Amphion — rising like silent arguments carved from light and ice. The glacier unfurled its pale tongue, an ancient current arrested mid-sentence, its surface rippled with the memory of motion. The air shimmered, crystalline and unrepentant, a cold clarity that cut to the marrow.
Lake Agnes lay below, a still pool, dark and sharp as polished obsidian. It absorbed the landscape without a ripple, the reflection a perfect inversion—mountains upside down, the sky swallowed by earth. The scene was a paradox: immensity caught in a whisper, time paused on the brink of collapse. He felt the grass brittle beneath his boots, the wind threading through the crevices of his jacket—a touch neither warm nor cruel, merely indifferent.
For three days he had wrestled through the entrails of the land. The rainforest had closed around him with a suffocating lushness, roots coiling like serpents beneath the moss. Streams foamed with a glacial bite, the waters quick and thoughtless, bruising his ankles as he waded through. Thorned thickets tore at his skin with the intimacy of old grudges. He climbed slopes slick with rain, his body folded into painful angles, the horizon always receding. When he reached this place, the fog had been thick enough to erase the contours of the world. His tent had trembled in the night winds, the cold seeping in like an unwelcome thought.
But then dawn came, unburdened and lucid. The veil lifted, and the mountains revealed themselves in their raw articulation. They did not posture or proclaim—they simply were, immutable and unscripted. The glacier’s silence was more profound than any roar; the peaks did not loom so much as exist beyond scale.
Here, in this distilled emptiness, the trivial machinery of the world he had fled seemed absurd. The restless striving, the ceaseless revolutions of ambition and vanity—all of it shrank to the size of a pebble lost in a chasm. There was no wheel here to turn, no circuit to complete. Only the landscape, bare and relentless in its honesty.
He filled his lungs, the air sharp enough to taste. It was an act of quiet rebellion, this deliberate witnessing. In that breath, he found not freedom, but a dissolution of need. The lines between man and mountain wavered, softened by the sheer scale of indifference. If he stayed long enough, perhaps he too would become part of this tableau—his form dissolving into lichen and shadow, his presence no more than a pause in the wilderness’s endless thought.
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To explore more of these captured moments and woven words, visit the artist and writer at their sanctuary of creation: www.coronaviking.com
Rathgeber P3.16 operated by STPT Timisoara on a cold rainy summer morning on line 4. 30th of August 2021.
Nikon F50 + analog film. Photo was cropped.
It could be East-Germany in the 1980s, during the cold war. But it's not : this is Paris in 1998 just before the avenue de France was built.
This is uh, this is Algeria. Yeah, go tourist there, definitely not Iceland...
“For the first time he perceived that if you want to keep a secret you must also hide it from yourself.” ― George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four
A cold dawn at blue hour is broken by the sound of a hard working Lima berkshire. . . . as Pere Marquette 1225 rolls toward Owosso, Michigan on January 13, 2019 during a Pete Lerro charter.
Bounty hunting on desolate moons is a lot easier when you're already DEAD.
Cosmic Legions Engineer with a swapped skull head.
Copyright © 2012 Elizabeth Root Blackmer. All rights reserved.
Available for licensing at macrografiks: macrografiks.com/photographer/elizabethrootblackmer
You are invited to visit my website at www.brootphoto.com.
Part of the enduring appeal of snowflakes is their intricate appearance and near infinite variation, meaning that all snowflakes are unique. The number of possibilities of nuances in temperature and humidity as the snowflake falls to the ground is limitless.
If you look closely at a Snowflake you will see countless individual features, all having formed ever so slightly differently in direction or shape owing to the slightest change in the environment in which it formed.
This was in Abisko in January 2016. I so want it to be winter again so I can travel north and enjoy the cold, silence and swirling colours
Shot in Rua 31 de Janeiro, Oporto, Portugal.
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Leica M9 + 50/f2 Summicron
ISO160 f2.8 1/500sec
A homeless man covered him self with this blanket because the cold weather in Damascus City center.
Date : 13 \ 4 \ 2015
It's a cold, dreary February day, as C&NW GP15 #4411 approaches the BN crossing near Shabbona, IL. The conductor is climbing down off the locomotive, preparing to call the BN dispatcher and get the signal to cross the main line. This is the C&NW's Troy Grove job. Back then, 3 to 4 cars long. Now, I guess 50 or more cars. The main commodity hauled off of this line is silica sand. The CNW unit became UPY 542, was returned to the lessor and is now roaming around as LLPX 1514.
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A photo from the archive, just like the weather has been lately as well.
Maybe we will have snow the next days, which will be fun to photograph birds (and landscapes) in.
My album of ice and snow here.
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