Pictures with the title "308"
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Hua Hin, Prachuab Khiri Khan, Thailand.
Hua Hin is one of eight districts (amphoe) of Prachuap Khiri Khan province in the northern part of the Malay Peninsula in Thailand. Its seat of government, also named Hua Hin, is a beach resort town.
Hua Hin district is in the middle of what the Thai government is promoting as the "Thai Riviera", the stretch of coastline between Phetchaburi in the north and Chumphon in the south. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hua_Hin_district
Out on the far horizon the sun starts to awake
With the faintest of bright golden glows
Hanging above streaks of indigo clouds
The dawn is about to explode.....Alison Gaff
Happy new week everyone!
pointing to the far right of the political spectrum...this is not america
This is not America
A little piece of you
The little peace in me
Will die
For this is not America
Blossom fails to bloom this season
Promise not to stare
Too long
For this is not the miracle
There was a time
A storm that blew so pure
For this could be the biggest sky
And I could have the faintest idea
For this is not America
It has been 8 months since I lost you. Somedays it feels like only seconds have past and others it feels like its been an eternity. Even when the faintest of light shines through, my world goes dark just as fast..
" I'm a little unsteady
I'm a little lost inside
And my heart stays heavy
I don't say what's on my mind
And I think it's starting to show
Can you tell I'm losing control
Feel like I'm broken there's so many pieces
Don't know if you can fix me
And can somebody take this pain?
I'm just not the same
I'm so lost and confused don't know what else to do.... "
Lyrics by Jake Banfield from his song Take This Pain
This Long-billed Dowitcher was photographed near Utqiaġvik, Alaska, during breeding season, standing tall on a tundra perch like he was auditioning for a solo in the Arctic choir. And he was. Males take the high ground to deliver rapid, piping calls—keek-keek-keek-keek-keek!—part love song, part turf warning. Rivals are notified. Females, ideally, are swooning. If not, well—he still looks fabulous doing it.
Dowitchers are shorebirds engineered for mud. Their bills don’t just stab and slurp—they pinch. The flexible tip works like forceps, able to grasp prey deep in the muck without opening the beak and filling it with sludge. It’s like using chopsticks with built-in fingers.
Inside those bill tips are Herbst corpuscles—pressure-sensitive nerves that detect the faintest wiggle from prey hiding below the surface. Even when they can’t see the food, they can feel it moving.
He’s a performer, a mud-prober, and a living multitool—proving once again that Arctic love songs are better with tweezers.
SRY FOR THE SLOW RESPONSE !
(Working on it )
Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber'd and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
„
– Alfred Tennyson, "The Kraken"
MIXED MEDIA OIL/ACRYLIC Painting By Me.
46 X 55 Cm.
All Paintings is by hand, No Computer or manipulation !!!
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Go to my website, select image, right click. press save image as. and download the image
A Heartfelt Thank you! To you all my Friends!
For all the nice Comments, Faves, Awards and Invitations.!!!
I read all your Comments and all your Mail.
I really Appreciate all the feedback you are giving me,
Giving me strength and joy to paint
THANKS A LOT MY DEAR FLICKR FRIENDS !
I found myself staring for a while at this intriguing and fascinating mechanism displayed in a store's window in the centre of Augsburg, without having the faintest idea what it represents, other than being the fruit of a beautiful mind. “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” - Arthur C. Clarke
Inula
In our garden
Thank you all so very much for the kind words, comments and visits!!
Really appreciated :^)
August brings the faintest rustling of leaves and I feel the crispness calling to me. Visit Tilheyra before the leaves Fall.
Mount Tahoma (Rainier) and Little Tipsoo Lake, Mount Rainier National Park, Washington
Some sunsets announce themselves with with a blare of color, painting the sky in vivid shades that demand the eye's attention. Others whisper with the faintest of hues and are seen, and felt, mostly with the heart. This was one of the latter.
As detailed in my previous post, Racing Sunset, my friend and I were trying to finish a hike in time to watch what we hoped would be a spectacular mountain sunset. As we were slowly and carefully picking our way down yet another snowy slope on the trail however (no time to stop and put microspikes back on!), it became clear that we were unlikely make it to our originally planned viewpoint. So we quickly formulated a backup plan. When I had hiked in this area last summer, I had found a boot path trail that went up the hillside above and around this small lake, and the high point was above the trees enough to have a clear view of Tahoma. The tricky part was finding the cutoff to the trail in an area that was still snow covered. But we managed to scramble up through the snow to a point where the narrow dirt path became visible, and quickly made our way up the hillside above the lake. From that vantage point we did have a great view, and enjoyed bonus of having our viewpoint all to ourselves, since there are other much more accessible sunset viewing locations for those with better timing :-)
As for the sunset itself, apparently someone hit the mute button on the sky, as it did not light up in brilliant colors nor illuminate Tahoma in a rosy pink sunset glow. This was about as colorful as the sky ever got that evening. [The photo was taken as we were hiking back down the other side of the lake and the gleam of yellow light reflecting on the water caught my eye.]
And yet there was still a profound beauty to it. As the sky faded toward dusk, a hush enveloped the landscape, and on a perfect summer evening it felt truly special to be in the presence of Tahoma's majestic grandeur.
[Note: You can see a few photographers and their tripods down below at the edge of the lake.]
Dawn at Blea Tarn - A perfectly calm and serene spring day dawns at Blea Tarn.
The pre-dawn light just picks out the Langdale Pikes and sees them perfectly reflected in the wonderfully still water of the tarn, as the faintest hint of dawn mist just grazes across the surface of the tarn.
Lake District, Cumbria
Our first yard butter-butt of the year, although he's not displaying that feature here. They are classic confusing fall warblers, with wingbars and streaks all over, and only the faintest hint here of the yellow-orange in its 'armpits' that makes most of them fairly easy to pick out. Glendale, Missouri
Any excuse to use some Bob Seger Lyrics. Sadly the Roller has now moved on to pastures new. Went for a look today despite no sighting reports on BirdGuides - however saw about 20 birders on the edge of the road and hoped for the best - but they were there on the slim hope it returned. Apparently the sheep in the field had been moved elsewhere and the Roller left at the same time.
Stood alone on a mountain top
Starin' out at the Great Divide
I could go East, I could go West
It was all up to me to decide
Just then I saw a young hawk flyin'
And my soul began to rise
And pretty soon
My heart was singin'
Roll, roll me away
I'm gonna roll me away tonight
Gotta keep rollin', gotta keep ridin'
Keep searching 'til I find what's right
And as the sunset faded, I spoke
To the faintest first starlight
And I said next time
Next time
We'll get it right
not have the faintest idea what to do with them when you have saved them:-)
C.E.M. Joad
HSS!!
amaryllis, 'Blossom Peacock', plant delights nursery, wake county, north carolina
In this quiet sweep of sand and shadow, the dunes fold into one another like soft geometry shaped by wind and time. I was drawn to the subtle tension between depth and luminosity, by the way darkness anchors the scene while delicate ridges catch the faintest light. This piece continues my exploration of silence as a sculptural presence within the desert landscape.
Located in the Snowdonia National Park this picturesque valley and place of serenity has not always been so quiet. In 1886, the Prince of Wales (future King Edward VII) opened the Gorsedda Slate Quarry in the valley. The village of Treforys was built to house the quarrymen and consisted of 36 houses set in 3 streets. A sophisticated slate mill, Ynys Y Pandy, was also built to dress and finish the slate before being transported on a newly laid 3ft gauge tramway down to the harbour town of Porthmadog. But this flood of activity was short lived. After a short 20 years of excavation, the quarry was closed down as quality slate became more and more scarce. As the local paper reported, “everything that could facilitate the works was produced, nothing being wanting but the slate vein”
.
The empty shell of Ynys Y Pandy still stands at the foot of the valley. A stark, man made monument set against a stunning mountainous back drop. The remains of the village of Treforys is less apparent. A blanket of green has devoured all but the faintest outlines of that early, expectant community. The water of the lake that once fed a 26ft water wheel, the beating heart of the mill, is now still and provides a quiet oasis for fishermen and passing walkers.
Text source: www.dioni.co.uk/cwmystradllyn-the-most-beautiful-valley-i...
and then not have the faintest idea what to do with them when you have saved them :-)
C.E.M. Joad
prunus mume, Japanese flowering apricot, 'Big Joe', j c raulston arboretum, ncsu, Raleigh, north carolina
Savi ft. Bryce Fox - Breathe It In ♪ ♫ ♩ ♬
Tell me why I'm holding my breath today,
I was wondering and walking while the weather waits,
I don't want nobody, body
Sweeping up my shadow, follow?
Falling in my wake, crawling in to place
Complacently wasted with you,
Facing the faintest of truths
Breathe it in,
Give me that feeling, cause I need it
Breathe it in
Pick me up, up
You know I'm ready
Tell me why I'm cold on a summer day,
I was shivering and shaking while I melt away,
And I don't want my body, body
Hallow from the ammo, follow?
Falling in my wake, crawling in to place
Complacently wasted with you,
Facing the faintest of truths . . .
Pic taken at Foggy Swamp SL
Waking up at the first sign of daylight is made worth the effort of dragging oneself out of the comfortable cosiness of a bed. when you get to witness a spectacular sunrise such as this one.
I found myself alone in the wide expanse of the park, the faintest glimmer of light had just started to awaken the dawn; a few brave birds tweeted their morning serenade heralding the slowly rising sun. as I sat I watched the horizon begin to glow, then slowly at first the night sky was pushed back by the cresting glow of the new days sun. eventually the sky was ablaze with orange silver and golden fragments of light that were darting in all directions.
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Faintest hint of people's heads can be seen just over the tops as they wandered in bemused wonderment among the tulips. Photographed at the Holland, Michigan, Tulip Festival.
A shot from the weekend in what is fast becoming my favourite woodland.
I headed out early on Sunday morning with the promise of fog according to the forecast. However upon climbing into my car and setting off in the dark I noticed the absence of need for my fog lights, not I thought a good sign.
Parking up I noticed the faintest hint of fog in the distance, so off I set in the dark to walk up to and into this Woodland.
The fog came and went rolling through in patches before it was completely burn away by the ever present sun. This was captured at the very end of the fog and I quite light the hint of golden light which had just started to creep into the woods.
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We were at Emerald Lake waiting for sunset but sadly the clouds were a little thick, we did however get the faintest of pink in the clouds and the clouds cleared the peaks at the right time.
Thank you for taking the time to look and any comments or favs are appreciated.
Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Along the Colorado meander in Page, AZ, the Horseshoe Bend. If you even have a slight vertigo, like me, please stay a bit away from the edge, there is a sudden fall of several hundred feet. It was a bit windy that only added to my fear of getting blown away towards the edge. I used my tripod to get a bit more balance and to relax my fear shaken knees. But people around me were like monkeys or may be they have some hidden wings that come out if they slip as they were hanging out. All this for a cool selfie! Very irresponsible to your own life. I wonder what the tombstone might read -lost balance and fell off a cliff! Not a good way to go!
Coming back to this marvel, its a must see place if you are in or around Page. Just a small 0.75mile trail (a bit of a hike while coming back). Absolutely marvelous and will take blow your mind when you will first see it up close. While walking down towards it you will not have the faintest of an idea of what it would really looking like until you are at the edge! Its like a Taj Mahal hidden below waiting for you to find!
Hope you will like it! And be careful when you visit!
This is a panorama of 16 images taken in portrait orientation and stitched in LR6.
Taken in the wine cellar of Almenkerk Wine Estate, Elgin, Western Cape, South Africa.
I haven't the faintest clue what the purpose of this steel thingy is, but I liked the look of it :-)
On this day in 2016, never a dull moment. For those who may be interested, an extract from my Journal:
The flight over the Falls was exciting, we flew on both the Zimbabwean and Zambian sides of the Zambezi River, this shot taken from inside Zambia. Our helicopter flew a series of figure 8 flights before taking us back to the helipad. From the helipad we needed to get back into Victoria Falls to rejoin Darryl and the non-flyers. The problem was, we hadn't the faintest idea where we were to meet Darryl.
An enterprising man at the helipad said he knew where to find Darryl, so like trusting sheep off to the abattoir, we climbed into his people mover. We drove up, down and around the shabby streets of Victoria Falls for what seemed like an eternity, with never a sign of Darryl or his bus.
I had visions of us all being robbed, or far worse, in the dusty back blocks of this godforsaken African dump. Then, without warning we stopped at the rear of some shanty. We were offloaded and the driver ushered us through a gate to a small yard where food was laid out on a table; what a relief to see Darryl in the backyard gathering.
We were invited to drink and eat, but roasted Mopane caterpillars snuffed out my interest in food. Dishes of traditional African food were on a table attended by far too many flies and far too few waving hands. A bucket of traditional African beer, with mugs for dipping, sat beside cans of beer and Coca Cola. I wasn't hungry, nor all that thirsty as it happened, and I hadn't eaten since breakfast.
My first picture loaded and slightly editted with Photoshop. I haven't the faintest Idea what I am doing yet but I will learn. This is the Georgia Strait looking towards the Mainland.. way way way over there somewhere. IMG_8330
“I do not think the wood feels evil, whatever tales may say,” said Celeborn. He stood under the eaves of the forest as dawn began to break on the eastern horizon, stooping forward, as if he were listening, and peering with wide eyes into the shadows. “No, it is not evil; or what evil is in it is far away. I catch only the faintest echoes of dark places where the hearts of the trees are black."
~Tolkien -1954
This beautiful object is maybe one of the faintest I have captured so far. I was fortunate to have a very clear night last night. It's the first object I have captured where the initial images (5 minute exposures) showed only stars, at least with Oiii filter. Only after combining dozens of them did nebulosity finally start to emerge.
Overview
The Medulla Nebula is a supernova remnant located in the constellation Cassiopeia. Discovered as a radio source around 1960, it's estimated to be the aftermath of a Type II supernova from a massive progenitor star (13–15 M☉) that exploded roughly 10,000 years ago.
Nickname and Appearance
Named the Medulla Nebula due to its resemblance—on long exposures—to a cross-section of the human brain and spinal cord (medulla oblongata).
Physical Characteristics
It spans about half a degree—roughly the apparent size of the full Moon. At its estimated distance, this corresponds to a large physical size.
Pulsar and Dynamics
Observations reveal a radio pulsar, PSR J0002+6216, born from the same supernova. It travels at ~1100 km/s, likely propelled by an asymmetric explosion.
It is connected to CTB 1 via a distinctly narrow, comet-like radio emission tail—the so-called bow-shock pulsar wind nebula—pointing back to the explosion’s geometric center.
Morphology
Classified as a mixed-morphology supernova remnant: radio observations show a hollow shell, while X-ray emission is more centralized and compact—suggesting complex interior structure.
Emission Properties
Visible-light glow arises from the heated gas shell interacting with surrounding interstellar medium.
The nebula also emits in X-rays. The source of this X-ray emission remains uncertain, with one hypothesis proposing a pulsar wind from the central pulsar as the energy source.
History & Discovery
First identified in radio surveys dating back to 1960. Confirmed in 1968 as a supernova remnant by A. Poveda and L. Woltjer."
Sources
NASA Astronomy Picture of the Day (APOD) archives
DeepSkyCorner astronomical object database
RC-Astro imaging resources
Peer-reviewed studies on supernova remnants and pulsar dynamics
Historical radio survey data and classification papers
Acquisition
Location: North East USA
Askar 120APO with .8 reducer: 660 f/5.5
ZWO ASI533MM Mono Camera at -20C
Guided on ZWO AM5
11 hours total integration collected on 8/23 & 8/31/2025:
12x15s R/G/B filters
37xHa, 73xOiii, 22xSii @5m
Captured with N.I.N.A. processed with PixInsight, Ps
“There are moments when I wish I could roll back the clock and take all the sadness away, but I have the feeling that if I did, the joy would be gone as well.”
― Nicholas Sparks, A Walk to Remember
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5tr_L31StI&feature=youtu.be
IF YOU COULD READ MY MIND - GORDON LIGHTFOOT
Thanks Dearheart! : 0))
Lay a feather on my pillow
layer it with sweetest dreams
take my hand and wrap it round you
fill my heart and split my seams
bursting forth with loving memories
tender as the sultry night
where we spent my teenage years
hiding secrets; out of sight
clandestine; travelling; sands of time
leaving footprints; leaving imprints
with the love that made you mine
close my eyes and carry me there
back to those halcyon days
before my bubble burst and spilled
dimpling pockets; crazy ways
shadows cast that fade with love
eventually it dies away
and only the faintest subtle shades
can be seen within the passing of our days
heart-shaped shadows cast by rocks
golden light and butterflies
kisses delicate yet so fulfilling
emitting fireworks in my eyes
admit to me that you too feel this
when you remembered how we were
bound together in our memories
can you begin to feel a stir
how casually now you seem to be
repeating all my words back to me
separated by the deepest sea
that increased the distance and set us free
looking up now to blue skies
I can admit my foolish ways
but if you ask me if I regret them
I would have to tell you I would have stayed
had you not dissolved our love and weakened
diluted it with toxic waste
by-products that confused and drowned me
left on my lips a bitter taste
that faded too in time and now
I can speak your name once more aloud
yet still when I am in that city
I often see your face within the crowd
sleep well now and please forget me
I may never walk this way again
but I will always carry the love I felt for you
cry warm tears while walking in cool rain.
- AP - Copyright © remains with and is the intellectual property of the author
Copyright © protected image please do not reproduce without permission
My artwork is a combination of two of my photographs
Along the Colorado meander in Page, AZ, the Horseshoe Bend. If you even have a slight vertigo, like me, please stay a bit away from the edge, there is a sudden fall of several hundred feet. It was a bit windy that only added to my fear of getting blown away towards the edge. I used my tripod to get a bit more balance and to relax my fear shaken knees. But people around me were like monkeys or may be they have some hidden wings that come out if they slip as they were hanging out. All this for a cool selfie! Very irresponsible to your own life. I wonder what the tombstone might read -lost balance and fell off a cliff! Not a good way to go!
Coming back to this marvel, its a must see place if you are in or around Page. Just a small 0.75mile trail (a bit of a hike while coming back). Absolutely marvelous and will take blow your mind when you will first see it up close. While walking down towards it you will not have the faintest of an idea of what it would really looking like until you are at the edge! Its like a Taj Mahal hidden below waiting for you to find!
Hope you will like it! And be careful when you visit!
Taken from my friend's house we visited for the new year. This is her land at the back of the house which runs down to a large river. I thought the trees looked magnificent in the last light of the afternoon and with the faintest hint of mist brushing the tree tops.
Out of the gloom, the fog, the rain, emerges life—fragile yet resolute. A shimmer of wings catches the faintest light, trembling with quiet strength.
My entry for the Naturally Naughty Pimp My Pose Contest!
Picture taken at Naturally Naughty Studio.
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Coast%20of%20Passion/92/14...
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Located in the Snowdonia National Park this picturesque valley and place of serenity has not always been so quiet. In 1886, the Prince of Wales (future King Edward VII) opened the Gorsedda Slate Quarry in the valley. The village of Treforys was built to house the quarrymen and consisted of 36 houses set in 3 streets. A sophisticated slate mill, Ynys Y Pandy, was also built to dress and finish the slate before being transported on a newly laid 3ft gauge tramway down to the harbour town of Porthmadog. But this flood of activity was short lived. After a short 20 years of excavation, the quarry was closed down as quality slate became more and more scarce. As the local paper reported, “everything that could facilitate the works was produced, nothing being wanting but the slate vein”
.
The empty shell of Ynys Y Pandy still stands at the foot of the valley. A stark, man made monument set against a stunning mountainous back drop. The remains of the village of Treforys is less apparent. A blanket of green has devoured all but the faintest outlines of that early, expectant community. The water of the lake that once fed a 26ft water wheel, the beating heart of the mill, is now still and provides a quiet oasis for fishermen and passing walkers.
Text source: www.dioni.co.uk/cwmystradllyn-the-most-beautiful-valley-i...
FR 🇫🇷
Sous le vol tendu du prédateur, la scène se fige un instant parfait où force, précision et instinct s’unissent !
Le rapace, maître absolu du ciel, fond sur sa proie avec une vitesse foudroyante et une exactitude saisissante !
Son regard perçant repère le moindre frémissement à la surface de l’eau, et d’un geste fulgurant, ses serres d’acier saisissent le poisson sans hésitation !
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
EN 🇬🇧
Beneath the tension of flight, time stands still a perfect instant where strength, precision, and instinct converge !
The raptor, master of the skies, dives upon its prey with lightning speed and breathtaking accuracy !
Its piercing eyes detect the faintest ripple on the water’s surface, and in one swift, flawless strike, its iron talons close around the fish !
_________________________________________PdF______
Crawling into my Prius at 4:30 AM with two other photographers after just a few hours of sleep was probably not the most romantic Valentine's morning that I've ever experienced....but shooting the Milky Way from the Gates Of The Valley more than made up for that. We were both bummed and pleased with the fact that there was not a cloud in the sky as we began shooting the Milky Way which was gleaming brightly over the valley by the time we arrived. After we stood there freezing for 45 minutes or so, the sky began to grow lighter and we began to pack up. We were wondering what to shoot next since there weren't any clouds around for the sunrise.
Or were there?
As we stared up at the end of the valley, we could see a faint hint of pink on a cloud that we hadn't noticed before. We figured that even if it was a tiny bit of color, it would definitely look better from the tunnel, so off we went.
Somehow, between the time we left the Gates of the Valley and the time we arrived at the tunnel, we went from the faintest trace of a cloud to an an entire sky full of clouds that were just beginning to light up. We jumped out as fast as we could and started shooting. All the the color appeared and then disappeared in roughly 3 minutes. If we had spent any more time getting up to the tunnel we would have missed the whole thing.
The rest of the day was spent scurrying around the valley floor before the good light was gone, and then we were off for the long drive home. I had the brilliant idea of stopping off at El Matador Beach on the way back, forgetting the fact that it was Valentine's Day...on President's Day weekend...with temperatures in the 90's. The entire city of Malibu was on that beach when we arrived, but that's a story for another time. :)
--------------
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There are some days where everything seemingly goes to plan or everywhere you turn you get ‘another’ shot that you’re happy with. It certainly felt this way when we went over to see my mother. It was the most miserable of wet foggy January days which I had suspected would not yield any decent opportunities for a single shot. How wrong was I?!
If the week has been a challenge, a mountain to climb or a dark valley to seemingly crawl through, the nights long with little hope of dawn ever coming to ease the pain of endless worry or grief, but, hope does come, the first faintest glimmer does arrive.
As photographers we know that the blue hour proceeds the first rays of morning sunlight which will gradually creep up and once again light up a world of beauty ( of pain and horrific tragedies too I know) to become that most glorious of hours, the golden hour, where the light is so warm and perfect that you want it to last all day.
The golden hour does pass and the day will have its trials and it’s successes. Life’s journey can be tough, but have we a comfort that we can lean on, trust in and know that there is hope? By hanging in and trusting you know that black becomes blue and that blue becomes glorious.
Thanks for stopping
Located in the Snowdonia National Park this picturesque valley and place of serenity has not always been so quiet. In 1886, the Prince of Wales (future King Edward VII) opened the Gorsedda Slate Quarry in the valley. The village of Treforys was built to house the quarrymen and consisted of 36 houses set in 3 streets. A sophisticated slate mill, Ynys Y Pandy, was also built to dress and finish the slate before being transported on a newly laid 3ft gauge tramway down to the harbour town of Porthmadog. But this flood of activity was short lived. After a short 20 years of excavation, the quarry was closed down as quality slate became more and more scarce. As the local paper reported, “everything that could facilitate the works was produced, nothing being wanting but the slate vein”
.
The empty shell of Ynys Y Pandy still stands at the foot of the valley. A stark, man made monument set against a stunning mountainous back drop. The remains of the village of Treforys is less apparent. A blanket of green has devoured all but the faintest outlines of that early, expectant community. The water of the lake that once fed a 26ft water wheel, the beating heart of the mill, is now still and provides a quiet oasis for fishermen and passing walkers.
Text source: www.dioni.co.uk/cwmystradllyn-the-most-beautiful-valley-i...
It was supposed to be an aurora night, but it wasn't really, sooooo ... It's not the sharpest Milky Way (focusing was hard in 50mph wind gusts on the ridge) but it's all there, the entire Milky Way -- and, at the bottom of the photo, from left, you can see a meteor, a forest fire, the faintest pink and green glow of a building aurora, and, near the pine tree, more aurora. View is due north from the Purgatory Mountain overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway. The lens is an AstrHori 6mm f/2.8 circular fisheye; fully manual, it won't show up on the EXIF data. 鲰5 John M. Hudson | jmhudson1.com
GLOW. More lazy photography from the bottom of the garden. This one is a bit abstract. The mist was thick and the light of the rising sun was diffused through the mist to create an image which is basically bands of pastel colours with the faintest silhouettes! Fog again tomorrow!
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Together we peered uncomfortably at the last knot of beachgoers. “There are people here,” I murmured. “Hope they’re going soon.” Nicky nodded; like her father she’s not wild about being in close proximity to strangers, and the one remaining party on the sand were just a few feet from the rocks where we wanted to pitch our tripods. What if bolder togs came along in the meantime and stole our place? Well we’d only have ourselves to blame of course. All we had to do was walk over boldly and set up camp. All it needed was a little less self-consciousness. But we’re not good at that sort of stuff. We hung about at the edge of the rocks and hoped it was nearly time for them to go home. Fortunately, they in turn soon noticed the two backpack carrying oddballs loitering nearby and began to put away their beach mats. No further invitation was needed.
Usually at high tide I don’t venture down to the beach, preferring to stay on the cliffs, compositions simplified by the reduction of the number of rocks that litter the sand when the water is lower. But a few weeks earlier Nicky had shared an image which divided opinions on the family Whatsapp group. At high tide she’d shot the lighthouse from almost exactly this spot. The composition itself was perfect, and the colours in the sky brought a rush of winter drama to the image. Everyone agreed that it was a lovely shot, but without her tripod and filters that day she confessed it would have been better still with the addition of a six stop. Both Dave and I immediately agreed with her. Water was falling from every part of the rocks, but at one eightieth of a second; well, she knew she should have had her filters in the bag, but sometimes she prefers not to be weighed down by accessories. “Even half a second to bring out the drama in the water and smooth the falls over the rocks,” we electronically nodded in agreement would have further enhanced the final result – she had after all asked me to go out with her to offer a bit of tutelage after I’d bought her a second hand DSLR for her birthday. But of course, nobody else in the family knew what ND filters were or understood what we were talking about, and our mother (who has plenty of my long exposure photos over the walls over her house) was quick to chide us for what we felt was constructive feedback. “Smooth the falls? What are you on about?” I could almost hear her admonitory tones across the ether. For a few moments there was a defensive rush of comments of the photo from all and sundry. I decided that sharing an example taken by myself might be seen as my trying to hijack the moment, so I remained silent on the topic, letting the miniature tempest blow itself out, my sister diplomatically explaining to the rest of them that it’s “their jam after all.” I had no idea that anyone in the family made jam. The thread moved on. They spend a lot of time on various Star Wars spin off series that I’m not permitted to watch because Ali thinks that R2D2 is in fact Dusty Bin from 3-2-1. At the time we were in Madeira. I poured a glass of wine, quietly grumbled about the fact that only three of us in a group of fifteen had the faintest idea what we were talking about, and set myself to examining the raw files from the foggy afternoon in the Fanal Forest that we’d just returned from.
So now we were here at this spot together, armed with ND filters on Easter Monday at the end of a sunny afternoon when the first hints of the warmer air that normally arrives in the second half of April were on the wind. On an evening when high tide and sunset were less than an hour apart there was little beach on which to spread out, and while the waves weren’t in a particularly fearsome mood, they were still strident enough to warrant our respect. Close to the water’s edge, yet pinned to the side of the cliff, we did at least have an easy route to safety, but there was a chance we might get showered by the occasional rogue blast of seaspray. But the conditions were good, the diffused sun was just about creeping into the left hand side of the frame, and it was just a matter of catching a wave retreating at the right moment; preferably while a smoothed out waterfall or two might be gushing over the foreground rocks at the same time. Then Nicky could share her results with the family and Dave and I could humbly accept a collection of backtracking apologies from those who’d doubted our wisdom on the subject.
Of course it didn’t happen like that. We got our shots and headed back to our cars and then home. Typically I was drawn between two shots. In another I liked the sea, but not the much clearer sky, and in this I absolutely preferred the dark clouds and the washed out sun. For a moment I considered blending the two, but they were taken an hour apart and I decided to leave each original alone. There was no great unveiling of our images with reference to the earnest discussion of a few weeks earlier. We both posted our images on Instagram to moderate acclaim, including from those members of the family who’d protested at mine and Dave’s impudence. Well they liked her shots anyway – they seem to have ignored mine. What do I know after all? Her sea thrift image was nicer than mine too. I think I’ll just remain quiet. No need to stir them all up again really. I might never get to taste that jam otherwise.
I've been sitting on this photo since last November as I've had such a difficult time figuring out how to crop and process it. The dynamic range was rather huge and my first two, or three or forty attempts to use hdr on it gave me mixed results. Finally, after using "Merge to 32 bit HDR' with Lightroom and quite a bit of tweaking in with Nik Efex, I came up with something I thought would work.
This is the view that greeted me as I stood on the balcony of Griffith Observatory last November. I had arrived at about 5:30 AM and was hoping that the sun might be able to just sneak under the cloud layer of an incoming storm. After a while, the faintest bit of pink appeared on the horizon, and within 10 minutes, the entire sky just to the left of the LA skyline was lit up.
My cropping problem came from the fact that the sky was so amazing and I wanted to fit all of it in with my 14-24 lens, but there was just so much to look at. I finally cropped away about 60 percent of the photo leaving what you see here.
A bit of useless trivia: Before I took this shot, two of the large buildings in the downtown skyline left specific lights on over night. One read "USC" and the other "UCLA." This must have been the weekend of the big game.
4 September 2023 – Ojos de Agua, Rio Negro Province, Patagonia, Argentina
High on the windswept Patagonian plateau, just three kilometres north of the tiny settlement of Ojos de Agua, lies a silent stage where time seems to pause. A vast, flat-topped mesa dominates the scene, its slopes still etched with the scars of snow and wind. Here, the air is so dry and transparent that even the faintest echoes—of wind, of memory—appear to hang in the sky.
This is the domain of La Trochita, the legendary Old Patagonian Express. In the early 1920s, Argentina laid narrow-gauge tracks—just 75 cm wide—linking Ingeniero Jacobacci with Esquel through the hardly hospitable Patagonian steppe and foothills. Built for freight, this line ultimately became a lifeline for remote communities and a remarkable feat of engineering.
Today, only segments survive as heritage excursions—one such run is the short journey of approximately 43 km from Jacobacci to Ojos de Agua, traversing this barren landscape that stretches in every direction.
In the photograph, the train snakes quietly across this emptiness—the steam rising against the smooth plateau. It feels inconceivably small beneath the commanding mesa. Yet it is precisely this contrast that gives the image its hush of wonder: a relic of steam-term in a world untouched by time.
La Trochita serves not just as a tourist draw but as a living link to the past. Declared a National Historic Monument in 1999, its original 1920s steam locomotives still run, passing through one of the world’s most remote and austere landscapes
© Jean-Marc Frybourg – 230904 – 1668
After being shut out the night before by a stubborn storm that refused to break up over Jasper National Park, we had our fingers crossed as we headed back to Maligne Lake the following morning. We all seemed pretty happy with our blue hour shots, but as sunrise approached, it really began to look like we might not see the sun at all that day. I think we had all resigned ourselves to the fact that we were looking at another completely gray day when I glanced up an noticed the faintest wisp of pink on one of the clouds. Sure enough, the sun broke through just enough to throw some fleeting color across the the clouds that were continuing to roll in from the West. I think Tom and I are the ones in our group who really have a problem standing still during moments like this. Both of us went off in all directions at once, and both of us had two camera bodies for just such an occasion. Leaving my D800 on the tripod, I took off running with my D750 and cranked up the ISO a bit while I looked for other comps in addition to what I was getting down at the lakeside.
As I was racing back to my spot in front of the boat house, this puddle caught my eye and I spent the next few minutes trying to shoot if from several different angles with the 14-24. There have been times where I have doubted my run and gun approach, but I usually reserve it for situations where I feel like I've got a decent shot on the tripod before setting of to see what I might be missing maybe just a few steps away. If I had stayed camped out where I was I would have missed this particular shot along with quite a few others. We ALL gave in to temptation two nights before when we had a perfectly good view of the late afternoon sun up at the Opabin Prospect, but curiosity got the better of us and we full out RAN back up the trail to get more shots of the larches behind us. So I think there is something to be said for making sure you KEEP MOVING once you believe you have a decent shot...especially when you might only have another few minutes of good light.
This being said, it helps to be able to TRUST the guys who you are shooting next to. Maybe leaving the camera on the tripod while you run like a maniac in all directions should be reserved for those times when you actually know the people around you...or you might not have a camera when you get back. :)
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No one noticed the change at first. It began as a hum—soft, constant, like the world itself was vibrating. Scientists blamed solar winds, engineers blamed faulty towers, and everyone else kept scrolling, swiping, and tapping as if the glow of their mobile screens was the only real light left in the world.
But the electromagnetic haze thickened, weaving itself into the air like invisible fog. It happened gradually, then all at once: humanity shrank. Legs multiplied. Skin hardened. Voices collapsed into clicks.
By the time the first phones slipped from now-tiny hands onto the dirt, the human race had already become ants.
Panic spread through the colonies that formed where cities once stood. Towers became mountains; sidewalks became plains of cracked stone; skyscrapers, once filled with people, now loomed like impossible cliffs. The surface world was still there—just too enormous to reach. All they could do was crawl into the cracks, the tunnels, the places humans had once tried so hard to avoid.
It wasn’t fear that drove them underground. It was instinct—the leftover human longing for shelter now twisted into an insect’s compulsion to burrow.
In the dark beneath the earth, fragments of the old world remained: a shattered phone screen reflecting faded blue, a glittering field of lost earbuds, tangled charging cables like the roots of some technological tree. The ants remembered these objects—not clearly, but like dreams. Some ants slept curled beside a fallen phone as if waiting for it to wake them. Others tapped at its glass, producing only the faintest flicker of static.
Legends spread through the tunnels: stories of the surface, where sunlight still shone and wind still carried warmth instead of static. A few brave ants made the climb every day, scrambling up through drainpipes and cracks, but the open world always overwhelmed them. The sky was too vast, the ground too exposed, and every bird overhead meant death. They returned below, trembling.
Deep in the earth, the colonies began to whisper—if clicking mandibles could be called whispering. They spoke of the Great Hum, of the screens that had once glued their attention, of how they had traded the world’s wonders for glowing rectangles that fit in their palms.
Some believed they could change back. Others accepted that humans had simply become what they had behaved like for years: small creatures, living in tunnels, blind to the real world above.
But every night, when the hum faded and the tunnels grew still, the ants dreamed of walking upright again… of holding hands instead of antennae… of standing on the surface beneath a sky that no longer felt impossibly far away.
And sometimes—only sometimes—they swore they could hear a phone ringing somewhere above them, calling them back to what they once were.
But none were ever able to answer.
In the "Red House" in Aldeburgh, Suffolk. I hope I am not overstepping the mark by offering an interpretation of this room. There are lots of materials about Britten on the worldwide web, but you would not even have the faintest idea that he was composing his music sitting on a high, wooden and, in my view, very uncomfortable, stool. What comes across to me is that his composing music was not pleasure time, it was rather hard, disciplined work. Fuji X100F.