View allAll Photos Tagged Posture
Taller tamarack trees make for perfect perches from which to sound the alarm for other males to stay away.
A second visit to photograph the Kingfishers at the end of April. The day started overcast with very light rain. But the brightened up slightly.
The male Kingfisher took up this Alert posture as a bird of prey flew high over the stream..
Only the male Kingfisher was seen throughout the day. But it was returning regularly to catch fish where it would dive and catch a fish for itself and then dive and catch a second fish before flying off.
I love to shoot big birds with different postures, as if they’re fashion models. This is a painted stork.
I was sitting lower yesterday to try and capture mating stilts from a different angle. A pair of pintails warily passed by and for a moment he posed for me.
Thank you so much for visiting my photo to comment or favorite. I do appreciate it so much!! :)
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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White-breasted Nuthatch posturing to scare away a nearby Titmouse - Penny Lake Preserve, Boothbay Harbor, Maine
Great to see the posing and posturing today at Westhay before it clouded over, saw lots of 'stuff', just not a great day for photography... the forty mile an hour wind didn't help. :@D