View allAll Photos Tagged Diminished
There is a seemingly endless variety of plumeria blossoms. All are attractive and exude a delightful scent, neither of which are diminished by a light spring shower.
A shallow part of the the river and much diminished falls at Erawan National Park, in Kanchanaburi, Thailand. Only the sizeable tree trunks washed down in the rainy season bear witness to the power of the river at that time of year.
Opening the front door to commence my walk, I was confronted with this rather exceptional display of Jack's craft covering the entirety of my full length storm door window. Needless to say, I stopped to take a number of photos, not really knowing on which section to focus. And after spending an inordinate amount of time trying to decide, I still don't. Thus, this is what you get. I was going to do a series of additional views of different sections in comments, but frustration defeated interest. (Some of you may know the feeling.) Suffice it to say that it was a uniquely well defined and impressive effect, diminishing and vanishing rather quickly as the heat from inside impacted the ideal conditions which had formed it.
[Larger, of course, shows the delicate detail more effectively]
Adirondacks, NY
Boreas is the Greek God of the North Wind, and perhaps whoever named this river suffered through the winters that were carried southward on its journey to meet the Hudson. I long for that breeze now, sweaty and sticky in the heat of early evening. The Boreas Rover is a rocky corridor here; huge boulders are randomly scattered, with smaller ones migrating into the forest. It leaves you wondering about the forces of creation. This isn’t a popular place, it’s just one I came across long ago, and return to occasionally, as if revisiting an old friend. I’ve found that this is a common thing I do, coming back to familiar haunts. In a nation that has gone woke, hijacked by agenda idealogues, and writhing in the irony of what’s destroyed versus what’s created, maybe I need to reassure myself that some things, some places, haven’t changed. Many have. Some have suffered the onslaught of people, drawn by internet inspired geo-trophyism, and left questionable when or even whether to ever return to them for solitude. I’ve returned to broad vistas, now permanently marred with ridges of marching wind turbines, or the sun glinting off acres of solar arrays, the earth’s landscapes left pitted from the earth movers used to produce the raw materials to make it all. Aesthetics are succumbing to climate fears; how did we come to trust people who claim to know what is good for the planet, and couldn’t care less about wilderness and wildlife. My list diminishes yearly of those that remain unchanged, unloved by but a few, a comfort food for the heart. God willing they will remain hidden, unusable, there to take solace in, from time to time.
Sometime overnight on Sept. 20th, DT had a skirmish that resulted in his right antler being broken off just behind the G2 or
Bay tine. On the 21st, we watched the cows in his harem make a break from him and, despite his attempts to keep them rounded up, he was unsuccessful.
Tomorrow...the bull that likely diminished DT's mating opportunities for the season.
I chose this photo to post because it shows the break pretty well. Had to go with a square crop to eliminate distracting elements.
1830 brought the diminishment of The Netherlands in Europe; the southern Netherlands broke away from the House of Orange and soon, after a ten-day battle, became independent as the kingdom of Belgium (1831). But in the far east in the Dutch colony of the East Indies (now Indonesia), The Netherlands was expanding its power. On March 28, 1830 the 'rebellion' of Prince Diponegoro (1785-1855) was crushed by his surrender to Dutch governor-general Hendrik Merkus de Kock (1779-1845).
De Kock was a busy civil servant (in the Batavian Republic and later in the Dutch monarchy) fulfilling a great variety of functions, but he was also a patron of the sciences. Hence Pieter Willem Korthals (1807-1892), botanist and plant-collector in Indonesia, named this Bauhinia for him (1840).
Beautiful orange and yellow Bauhinia graces many tropical parks all over the world. All parts of the plant including its pods are edible, e.g. as boiled vegetable. It also has traditional medicinal uses, e.g. for treating STDs and its bark is used to alleviate toothaches.
President Street, Wheaton
Union Pacific SD70M #4145 and AC44CWCTE #5575 lead a westbound manifest through Wheaton at Mile Post 24.05 on the UP Geneva Subdivision. The track in the foreground is a pre-assembled section to be installed as part of a project providing cross over switching between the three existing tracks.
Nikon D5100, Tamron 18-270, ISO 100, f/10.0, 18mm, 1/400s
to the library entrance. . . this is the rear pathway from the parking area! HFF!
It is part of a Civic Center complex of structures, hence the elaborate (and expensive!) fence at this side.
The wind was so strong it took your breathe away but it didn't diminish the rugged beauty of the Cliffs of Moher, in Co. Clare, Eire.
Received an email from flickr the other day under the subject "what does autumn look like where you live?". For many people, that question conjures up beautiful, color saturated images of fall foliage, pumpkins, and assorted Halloween deco. For me it brings forth disturbing visualizations representing the death of another summer. To me, the end of summer marks the end of the year. It's as if all the hope and optimism of spring and summer is wiped away in the span of just a few weeks. The once fertile gardens and crop fields either already gone, or withering away before the final harvest. Autumn descends like a wraith casting death over the landscape. I've felt it for weeks now, as the brightness of summer feels gets slowly squeezed out of each passing day. A well-timed cold front roared in last night as if summoned by the wraith. The scorching heat that's been a staple of the past three months swept away in an instant. And a killing frost lurking just around the corner. That's my take on autumn, flickr.
It seemed appropriate to wind down my baby birds series with my cherished burrowing owls. For a decade I was able to watch the burrowing owls of this area close to home. In the beginning I might have them to myself for hours, but things changed, the owl families diminished, people came, and the landowners made access more and more difficult. So it ended, but I still have a "vault" of more than 2500 images and you've only seen a couple hundred.
This would be dad with 4 of his little owlets at the burrow entrance. An interesting tidbit here is the mousy carcass above the burrow - last night's dinner perhaps. From the car blind of course, zero crop.
Fast-moving scud clouds prowl the skies over a stubble field on a bleak December day. I headed out on the heels of a storm that dropped inches of rain and spawned extreme winds over the village. I love riding the residual energy of storms, particularly this time of year as the landscape gets buffeted while cold fronts sweep in from the north. I thrive on the turbulence of these weather transitions. It thrills me to experience these angry and highly dynamic skies despite the freezing cold. Clouds form and dissipate in seconds, and churn overhead at absurdly high speed.
The sensation of dreariness was heightened as I walked the boundary of this cornfield. The bleached landscape punctuated by the residual stalks, still delineating rows of long-harvested field corn. They put me in mind of lonely pickets, the remains of something once great now in ruins.
Perhaps not an origianl view but certainly a favourite from this wonderfully architectural city. I love the diminishing colannades alongside the Doge’s Palace and with the canal crossing in front, it can only be Venice.
A deteriorating barn elbowed by a collapsed structure beside it, appears to open its two white doors very reluctantly. An aging person once full of confidence gets more timid as their once strong faculties diminish.
Ballaglass Glen looking especially beautiful with its display of autumnal colours at their peak. This particular spot in the glen is a favourite of mine having shot it many times before all in pursuit of that perfect autumn image. Still not got it but getting closer! 🍂
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Daylight is beginning to falter here as we are dragged deeper into October. Even under a sunny, midday sky, the quality of light seems different. I see dappled sunlight where there was sheer brilliance just a few weeks ago. There's a shadowy quality to the landscape reminiscent of early evening that now persists all day long. Richly saturated autumn foliage tends to distract the eye during these weeks, masking the onset of encroaching darkness which surges in with the inevitability of an ocean tide. It's a very delicate balance, both of light and shadow, but also of emotion. Reality descends harshly as the lush foliage morphs into a sea of bare branches.
Promises are like the full moon, if they are not kept at once they diminish day by day...
(taken 12.03.09 near lonu ziyaarai kolhu surfing area..)
Earlier, only the left tower of the Golden Gate Bridge was barely visible. Just before leaving, I checked back again and the fog had diminished enough to reveal both towers and the Marin Headlands hills.
As seen from just East of Crissy Field in San Francisco.
The Staircase
La escalera, subir o bajar por ella es un privilegio en sí mismo.
The ladder, going up or down it is a privilege in itself.
Teilhard says we can further God’s project not only by our activities but also by how we deal with daily passivities of diminishment as well as those endured while suffering and dying. What does Jesus do with the energy he spends in suffering physical pain, emotional rejection, and spiritual pain? What is its purpose? Is it purely a waste? Can the energy spent enduring these things be used to benefit the growth of the kingdom of God? Teilhard answers yes.1 That is what Jesus teaches us on the cross. The energy being spent in enduring passivities, just as the energy being spent in performing activities, may be directed to energize God’s project by one’s intention. In the kingdom, no energy need be wasted. Even the energy endured in unwelcome passivities may be directed to contribute to God’s project. Teilhard sees Jesus doing precisely this. God’s will is always to promote the growth of the kingdom. Jesus’s prayer is, “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth….” This is the meaning of all martyrdom. One willingly undergoes martyrdom to help the growth of God’s kingdom, not merely to save one’s soul. In Teilhard’s terminology, one acts and does good deeds to help accomplish God’s work on Earth by one’s activities of growth. One transforms suffering and passivities to help accomplish God’s work on Earth by one’s activities of growth. One dies—a passivity—to help accomplish God’s work on Earth by turning it into an activity of growth.
- Teilhard de Chardin on the Gospels The Message of Jesus for an Evolutionary World Louis M. Savary Foreword by Richard Rohr
This grand stair has seen the elevation and diminishment of strong climbers on the direct ascent that may become less steady and not so sure footed on their somewhat dizzying descent depending on their sociable reception of reverence, revelry and their aptitude for rambunctiousness. All that is sheer supposition of the progression of historical heights achieved and also of the downward floundering disarray of degradation in regression. All of this was swimming around my unsure head as my hips, knees and ankles offered to give way. The four broken toes were not to be considered as I tried to do this stair and the well within and without some justice in my pictures.
This stair is in Auchinleck House in East Ayrshire, Scotland. It will have seen and supported Dr. Samuel Johnson and James Boswell whilst about their ways to publishing, “A Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland,” also, “The Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides.” Dr. Samuel Johnson having risen to fame as The Man Of Letters of his age with critical acclaim and his outstanding lexicography work that would assure him a place in the Black Adder Pantheon of historical characters of true merit in the absolute finest of humours, “A Dictionary of the English Language. 1755, 1773.”
Blackadder, Ink and Incapability, Dr. Johnson being played perplexed over Sausage by Robbie Coltrane, Episode aired Sep 24, 1987, written by Richard Curtis, Ben Elton.
I happen to believe that I have failed in both pictures here produced together,
A staircase, no a challenge accepted and an achievement attempted
A stairwell staring back and questioning, “How you can picture it?”
I need to return and with crushed toes try much harder to achieve a result worthy of the Stair and of the Well both Inner and Outer.
© PHH Sykes 2025
phhsykes@gmail.com
Many paths lead to success,
but one inevitably leads to failure,
the one that consists of trying to please everyone.
©Fan.D
we had a nice auroral display last night. I managed to get to a local viewpoint as it peaked but as soon as it did it quickly diminished.⠀
Macro Mondays theme: Candy
What's left from a wee packet of Rowntrees Randoms fruit gums which oddly diminished during the photo shoot.
HMM
We see many mysteries.. many opposites...
Many differences ; the succession of nights...
And days ; the creation of male and female.
Can we wonder at the differences...
In the nature and objectives of MAN?
One man's trash is another man's treasure. That old chestnut often bears relevance in my life. The usual manifestation is me pulling to the side of the road to retrieve a leaf blower or some such power tool that someone else has consigned to the trash. I bring it home, fix it up and am good to go, often for years without having to purchase (or find) a replacement. And so it goes with photography. I'm attracted to places that others consider nuisances. This is not learned behavior. It's just the way I was born. It's always been this way so must be genetic. Weird how the gene pool works...not just a love of abandoned places, but the gift of an artistic streak to be able to portray these places in a way that captures the visual that attracts me in the first place. For me it's not simply that a place is abandoned but how that abandonment makes me feel. I tend to view places like this in the context of what once was. It forms a weird overlay between what's in front of me and the days when people actually lived here. And foremost in my vision is showing some sort of juxtaposition of the two worlds. The change of season brought me back to this place. To me autumn marks the end phase of the year, literally the death of summer. A fitting time to visit a place that is also, figuratively, quite dead. I timed my visit to the foliage. Rich autumn hues, but not at their peak. My favorite time is just past peak color when the trees are starting to look bare. I love the look and feel of seeing the grass concealed by a carpet of fallen leaves. And not just fallen but still rich in color and tone. Still supple and not yet withered and dry. All of this color transformed the old house into a scene of beauty. And as I stood here, the sun suddenly emerged from thick cloud cover, quite literally as I was assessing the scene through my viewfinder. In that instant an already beautiful scene became electric as the sunlight brought intense vibrance to the leaves and bounced light into the shadowy areas of the house. Once again I had that sense of uncanny timing to be here at the perfect place and time to pull a proverbial piece of treasure from the trash.
I've always been fascinated with the transition from day to night. I love standing outside as daylight fades and darkness descends as if a curtain has been pulled. It's a wonderful time for photography, but even more so from a life experience standpoint. Over the years I've developed a habit of wrapping the session as twilight fades. Most of the sky drama tends to depart with the sun and photos tend to take on a muddy and indistinct appearance. That's how things stood until early July when Comet NEOWISE appeared. Suddenly I went into full-on night photographer mode. Now instead of packing it in at sunset, I found myself not even beginning a session until an hour or two after. It's a bit more involved than causal daylight shooting. Ordinarily I shun tripods on account of the way they tend to diminish spontaneity. However they are a must for night work. The shots tend to be a bit more static but I've found that doesn't necessarily mean they are less compelling. I feel a high level of energy being outside at night, particularly being out in open farmland completely alone, surrounded my expansive areas of inky shadows. There's anxiety from not knowing what's out there as well as contemplation of what could be out there. It's simultaneously frightening yet energizing. I quickly found that even after the novelty of seeing the comet faded, this energy remained and it's very addictive. I've made several more night forays since this discovery. The night sky is still fascinating. But so too is the landscape. The night sky transforms every nuance of the places I've come to know mostly by daylight. Light, shadow, color, clarity, it's all twisted at night. Places I know intimately appear strange, mysterious and even eerie at night. This lake, a quaint and picturesque local landmark by day takes on the look of a still frame from a hour film by night.
Last of the black and white bird shots, at least for now, still want to get out take some more but enough is enough for now however, a few in color is on the way. Have been in a photography slump but getting the bird shots has diminished the slump to some degree.
The April 10 Aurora was definitely one of the best this year and in this solar cycle. The colors on this night featured stunning purples and reds.
Weeds, moss and overgrown vegetation threatens to blot out all traces of an old barn that once stood tall and fresh. Younger people often view older people and see only a slow, stooped gait. But in the older person's mind they still skip like a child.
... If I ate a second "smoked salmon stuffed with farmer's cheese on grainy wheat bread with garnish" it wouldn't taste as good as the first sandwich. And eating a third sandwich, well that would just be a waste of money and digestive juices. ** Wrong! **
Friends, I just wanted you to know that if anyone is planning a trip into Manhattan this is one special, inexpensive place to stop for a delicious half sandwich or coffee and a delectable confection. Demel is located on The Plaza Hotel's lower level, right by the escalator. That's 59th Street and Fifth Ave. Enjoy!
A touch of sunlight on the cottonwoods as the incoming storm clouds began to diminish the daylight.
Fort Churchill State Park | NV
A view from Delta flight DL1369 of the Wasatch Front, Antelope Island, and the diminishing waters of Utah's Great Salt Lake on Dec. 26, 2022.
Excerpt from the plaque:
Construction of a Cupola
In late 2020, I started the painting “Construction of a Cupola.” As in every cupola structure, its construction goes in concentric circles that diminish as they get to the center. At the same time, we can imagine rays going from that center to the foundations of the cupola. The intersections of these rays and concentric circles form a grid and the surface of the cupola will consist of segments that gradually diminish as they approach the center.
So, in pondering my conception I prepared to make these segments one after the other, coming up with subjects for each, assuming that when I had finished them, they would fill the entire surface of my cupola (its half) and simultaneously the entire painting.
I drew all the large segments on the edges of the painting and, following my sketches, began moving confidently to its center, filling in several smaller segments. And here I was ambushed by something strange and unexpected.
The point is that the planned painting was rather large (229x862 cm) and consisted of five separate canvases which would be put together for the final painting. I made each of the canvases separately, without completing them in full, but just marking in different places the diminishing segments on each canvas.
When I set all of them next to one another against the wall, just to see “how the work was going” and how much more needed to be done to fill in all the segments and thus complete the entire painting, I unexpectedly saw that the painting was “done” and that nothing more needed to be done!
What had happened?
Before executing all the segments, I had drawn thin yellow lines of the grid that I mentioned earlier and in which I had already completed the greater number of segments. So, when I put it all together, the white and the drawn segments formed a strange but convincing unity that led to the unexpected completion of the painting. The white, undrawn segments in that grid next to the “drawn” ones gained from that proximity a special, mysterious meaning that allowed them to take a “legal” place and not simply be unfinished “holes” on the surface; they had become natural participants of the entire artistic whole.
What was that meaning?
In the article “Finished/Unfinished,” I mentioned and examined the hypothesis that next to the “obvious,” real world there is something that we will never see and that in a symbolic, artistic image can be presented as being “white,” empty, incomplete. And now placed next to each other, “depicted” and empty, in the grid system, where they were the same size, their proximity formed that strange completeness, that unity that we can sense only intuitively.