View allAll Photos Tagged QuietReflection
“I've learnt that solitude is sometimes a path that leads to peace”
― Carlos Ruiz
“Introverts live in two worlds. We visit the world of people, but solitude and the inner world will always be our home.” – Jenn Granneman
“As an introvert, you crave intimate moments and deep connections, and those usually aren’t found in a crowd.” – Jenn Granneman
🎼: Love Myself ~ Haille Steinfeld~
✈️ : L'Asterix
A serene night in Sweden. This path of lights marks a sacred space where candles burn brightly for loved ones, each flame a quiet moment of remembrance and reflection amidst the beautiful autumn darkness.
This photo means a lot to me. I’m honored to have captured and shared a space devoted to quiet memory and enduring love. Thank you for viewing.
🎼: She Used to be Mine ~~ Sara Bareilles ~~
🚂: The Mill
"Without reflection, we go blindly on our way, creating more unintended consequences, and failing to achieve anything useful."~Margaret J. Wheatley~
Sometimes quietly sitting with silent companions allows for the best reflection. Loving life and who we are, accepting others for who they are. And remembering to treat others as we love to be treated.
Sometimes it is the simplest things that makes one smile.
Have you ever gone Ice Fishing... this is one of those eimple pleasures... even though your fingers get cold.. your toes even colder... at the end of the day it is who you go do it with. This scene reminded me of my dad and the way he was.
IF you live with Dementia or know someone that does... my heart goes out to you. It is a tough disease watching those you love just waste away.. becoming shells of the people they were.
🚕: SnowDrops
They stood there long after the light began to fade.
This image captures a moment of quiet solitude a single figure silhouetted on a wooden bridge, bathed in the last golden glow of the day. The sun slips low, casting long shadows through the slats, painting the water with warmth that doesn’t quite reach the heart.
There’s no movement. No sound. Just the hush of a day ending and the weight of something unsaid. The bridge stretches out, but no one crosses. The light touches everything except the space between.
It’s a portrait of being alone—not in the world, but in the feeling. A place where memory lingers, where silence speaks, and where the sunset doesn’t comfort—it just watches.
My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.
The graveyard at St Tudno’s Church, set high on the Great Orme above Llandudno. Watching angels, weathered stones and Celtic crosses stand amid the grass, their lichen and shadows catching the soft Welsh light. It’s a timeless and moving place where faith, history, and landscape intertwine.
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in the depths of madrid’s metro, time bends. the train rushes past, a blur of blue and white, but she remains still, suspended in her own moment. the motion frames her, yet she is untouched by its chaos. her warm-toned jacket stands in soft contrast to the cold metal and streaking lights, a quiet resistance against the rush.
the image feels like a story half-told—a fleeting second where movement and stillness collide. in her gaze, there’s a question, a pause, or maybe just a quiet thought. in a city that never stops, she is the still point in the storm.
Sous les pins cembro,
L’âme glisse sur la neige,
Silence des cieux.
Beneath Swiss pines,
The soul drifts upon the snow,
Heaven’s quiet gaze.
Sous les pins cembro,
L’âme glisse sur la neige,
Silence des cieux.
Beneath Swiss pines,
The soul drifts upon the snow,
Heaven’s quiet gaze.
A young figure sits on the rocks, facing the open sea — not watching the waves, but thinking with them. The horizon becomes a line of questions, the steady rhythm of the water a slow, patient dialogue.
Seen from behind, the person is defined not by identity, but by thought. This is a portrait without a face, where reflection matters more than expression.
The image captures a familiar, timeless moment: youth meeting infinity, trying to understand its place within it.
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Молодая фигура сидит на камнях, обращённая к открытому морю — не наблюдая волны, а размышляя вместе с ними. Горизонт превращается в линию вопросов, а размеренный ритм воды — в медленный, терпеливый диалог.
Снятый со спины человек определяется не внешностью, а мыслью. Это портрет без лица, где важнее не выражение, а размышление.
Кадр фиксирует знакомый и вневременной момент: встречу юности с бесконечностью и попытку найти в ней своё место.
The sail slips past the waves like a whispered promise,
and the gulls cry secrets the sea has long forgotten.
Behind the glass, a cactus leans toward light,
brave in its stillness.
The flowers nod - purple sentinels of fleeting beauty.
Somewhere between the lighthouse and the living room rug,
a soul watches quietly,
not searching, not hiding,
just existing in that rare, golden pause
before what comes next.
-MD
a portrait steeped in quiet reflection and timeless dignity. captured at bar cristal on plaça espanya in palma de mallorca, this moment speaks of stories untold and wisdom gained through the years. the interplay of light and shadow draws you in, while the bustling energy of bar cristal fades into the background. this is more than a photographâitâs a window into a life well-lived.
walking along the promenade of portixol, she seems lost in thought, her pace matching the rhythm of the waves. the curve of the path mirrors the endless expanse of the sea, drawing you into the simplicity of the moment. the darkened sky lends a quiet weight to the scene, as if time itself has paused to listen. it’s the kind of silence that speaks, where the sea and the road become one, and her solitary figure is both fleeting and eternal.
A feather on the sand in Cannon Beach, Oregon. I was drawn to the water drops, and its quiet grace, the way something so small could hold so much beauty. Sometimes, it’s the simple things at our feet that remind us to slow down and really see. Not every photograph has to be a sweeping view.
barefoot steps mirror a journey across two worlds—one etched in the present, the other in reflection. sky and sea become one canvas, blurring the line between reality and memory. as clouds stretch and time stands still, each quiet step leaves a ripple, both on the surface and within.
his face, weathered like old leather, told stories no words could reach. from the street, i caught a glimpse of him—his hands folded, his gaze steady, as if lost between memory and the present. the café den coll, open to the street, framed the scene like a stage. he spoke to another man, but his thoughts seemed miles away. i focused my lens on him, drawn to the weight of his silence, the years etched in his features. the slate beside him bore the words "se feliz," a handwritten reminder, almost ironic in its quiet boldness. perhaps it’s the simplest wisdom, the hardest to follow: be happy.
on a day where the mist claims the skies, the shoreline of palmanova breathes quietly. a lone figure, clad in the luminous vest of duty, walks beside the calm sea, electric scooter in tow — a silent sentinel in the serene hush of winter. the fog lays a softening filter over the landscape, muting the colors of the beach and the trees, making the mountains appear as distant shadows. this tranquility is palpable, a stark contrast to the bustling summer months. it's a moment captured, where time slows, and palmanova's winter whispers are felt rather than heard.
Kneeling beneath the city’s pigeons, she pauses—half in thought, half in wind. The stone remembers every weight that’s rested here, every passing hour. Between her stillness and their motion, the rhythm of Cologne holds its breath.
To recline is to listen inward—an invitation to ease the breath, soften the shoulders, and rest in a moment that asks nothing of us but presence. In the clamor of modern life, where movement is often mistaken for meaning, stillness offers a quiet rebellion.
It’s not laziness or retreat, but a profound form of trust: that we are enough without the constant proving. I think of golden light pooling on a carpet, a cat stretching unapologetically across a windowsill, or the way dusk pours itself gently into a room. Stillness, in these moments, is not absence—it’s grace.
To truly recline is to allow the world to come to us, rather than chase after it. The fire warms not because we tend to it, but because we draw near. In this softened state, we absorb more—beauty, clarity, comfort. We become porous to goodness.
Rest is no longer a reward for exhaustion; it’s a recognition of worth. There’s something sacred in that surrender, where movement gives way to meaning felt rather than forged. And in that space, reclined and receptive, we remember a truth too often forgotten: that stillness doesn’t diminish us—it completes us.
Solitude and beauty along Rucker Creek - Chiricahua Wilderness, Coronado National Forest, Arizona
{ L } Lightbox view is best
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captured on a rooftop in felanitx, mallorca, this image invites the viewer into a quiet, suspended moment. the sun-kissed rooftop, bathed in mediterranean light, sets the scene for a private, unspoken meeting above the bustling world. the muted tones of the rooftop juxtapose beautifully with the warmth of the setting sun, creating a serene yet cinematic atmosphere. shadows stretch across the frame, adding depth and intrigue to the composition, while the casual pose of the subjects brings a sense of calm and contemplation.
✨Reading is Fundamental...Enrich your mind, enrich your soul. Knowledge is power, empower yourself and share with others. An active mind is a productive mind. Remember "idle hands are the devil's workshop" so do not give the accuser ammo.✨
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#SL #STRIPES #XiDeltaSigma #Empowerment #Zebras #Sisterhood #QuietReflection #StrongTogether
in madrid, the colors never rest. red, blue, yellow—they stand bold against the night, shouting into the darkness. but the man stands quieter. hands in pockets, shadows creeping over his jacket, his thoughts hidden in the folds of his face. the city paints itself bright behind him, but he moves slowly, a figure shaped by quieter years.
light cuts through shadows, color through black. madrid hums on, but here, for a moment, stillness wins.
A spectacular view and reflection over Husvågen and Jomfrutindan near Svolvær Airport during the Blue Hour. The Blue Hour during the Dark season is magic. No other words can describe it.
My favorite song at the moment is Magic with Coldplay:
Coldplay "Magic" lyrics:
Call it magic
Call it true
Call it magic
When I'm with you
And I just got broken
Broken into two
Still I call it magic
When I'm next to you
And I don't, and I don't and I don't, and I don't
No, I don't,
It's true
I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't want anybody else but you
I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't
No, I don't,
It's true
I don't, no, I don't no, I don't, no, I don't want anybody else but you
Ooooh ooh ooh
Call it magic
Cut me into two
And with all your magic
I disappear from view
And I can't get over
Can't get over you
Still I call it magic
It's such a precious jewel
And I don't, and I don't and I don't, and I don't
No, I don't,
It's true
I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't want anybody else but you
I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't
No, I don't,
It's true
I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't want anybody else but you
Wanna fall
I fall so far
I wanna fall
I fall so hard
And I call it magic
And I call it true
I call it magic
Ooooh ooh ooh
Ooooh ooh ooh
Ooooh ooh ooh
Ooooh ooh ooh
And if you were to ask me
After all that we've been through
Still believe in magic
Oh yes I do
Oh yes I do
Yes I do
Oh yes I do
Of course I do
beneath the arcades of palma, silence holds her steady, the glow of the pavement painting a stage for her cigarette pause. the world moves on, but here, in silver and shadow, time lingers.
a quiet corner bathed in soft light, where the echoes of christmas linger unseen. the glowing bulbs frame the story, their warmth casting long shadows on frosted glass. the silhouette of a tree whispers of the season, while a child, lost in their own world, reads in the stillness. this is the poetry of moments unnoticed—simple, fleeting, eternal.
through the columns of the city, where voices fade and thoughts linger, he sits. headphones draped around his neck, yet no music plays — it’s the pause between the beats that resonate. the light catches his face, but it’s the shadow that tells the story. i asked for a photo, and he offered stillness in return.
Over breakfast, she glanced at the headlines—this morning it was about the assassination of Charlie Kirk, a high-profile political figure who was fatally shot during a speaking event. In the photo, she’s seated by a window, hands clasped, eyes lifted—caught in a moment between the present and reflection. The light spilling in through the glass softens the scene: it’s not anger or shock exactly, but something quieter — pondering, absorbing, maybe unsettled. The patterned tabletop beneath her suggests that even in “ordinary” life, the weight of big events presses in.