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Black and white is the way out for heroes when you're forced to shoot facing the sun in bright sunshine. And that's only because your family refuses to wait the two to three hours until the golden hour and then accept the two to three hour descent instead of taking the last gondola of the Tegelberg ropeway back. And that at just 30 degrees in the shade.
That was a joke, of course, because of course they have every right in the world to do so. We're not up here because of me alone.
And even though the lighting conditions were suboptimal, I had to take in and capture this view, with all these the many mountain peaks one next and and behind the other.
This row of trees on the first ridge appealed to me in particular (I think the way back leads along there and at some point I'll do it to myself, but only to me).
Incidentally, behind this first mountain chain it is quite steep, quite far down. And somewhere down there, Neuschwanstein Castle sticks to the mountain (at least it always looks that it does from the other side).
Schwarz-Weiß ist der Ausweg für Helden, wenn du gezwungen bis bei strahlendem Sonnenschein in Richtung der Sonne zu fotografieren. Und das nur, weil deine Familie sich weigert die zwei bis drei Stunden bis zur Goldenen Stunde zu warten und dann den zwei bis drei stündigen Abstieg in Kauf zu nehmen anstatt mit der letzten Gondel der Tegelbergbahn zurück zu fahren. Und das bei gerade mal 30 Grad im Schatten.
Das war natürlich ein Scherz, denn dazu haben sie selbstverständlig jedes Recht der Welt. Wir sind ja nicht wegen mir allein hier oben.
Und auch, wenn die Lichtverhältnisse suboptimal waren, ich musste diesen Ausblick, mit den vielen Berggipfeln neben. und hintereinander unbedingt festhalten.
Ganz besonders hat mich diese Baumreihe auf dem ersten Kamm angesprochen (Ich glaube dort führt der Rückweg entlang und irgendwann tue ich mir das auch mal an, aber eben nur mir).
Hinter dieser ersten Bergkette geht es übrigens ziemlich steil, ziemlich weit nach unten. Und irgendwo da unten klebt dann Schloß Neuschwanstein am Berg (zumindest sieht es von der anderen Seite immer so aus).
more of this on my website at: www.shoot-to-catch.de
Later in the morning and still dark in another part of the Borough (Leyton this time), the clean up continues.
I wanted to photograph a lollipop in the worst way. You know the kind that is swirled in colorful goodness? Apparently kids do not enjoy lollipops like I did when I was young. The closest thing to a lollipop I could find at any store around here was a dum dum sucker. My husband, bless his heart, went out to all the local stores late last night looking for a lollipop for me and to no avail. This is what he came home with instead. Make do with what I have. ;)
Passing over the Trent & Mersey Canal, and against the backdrop of the steamy Tata Chemicals plant (purveyors of synthetic soda ash), is Freightliner unit 70011 hauling the 9.16am Bredbury RTS - Runcorn Folly Lane (6F33) industrial and domestic refuse train, aka 'The Binliner'.
The location is Lostock Gralam on the outskirts off Northwich where I'd brought the camera along to take advantage of a 'waiting appointment' for a car service. Due to some additional personal commitments taken on recently, outings with the camera have been thin on the ground and while I'll be catching up over the next few days, Flickr presence will be a bit hit and miss for the next few weeks.
This is hardly a new spot, but what drew me to the shot was what I believe to be the relatively new, and certainly eye-catching, narrow boat moored up on the right, together with the reflections in the canal. Named 'Forget-me-not', my research suggests the boat was built locally a couple of years or so ago, and is 57' long. Designed for permanent living my guess is you'd see little change from a £100k if something like this took your eye. But for sure I can see the appeal!
10.56am, 13th July 2021
An old Russian tradition: newlywed groom's parents are greeted with bread and salt. Biting the bread in turn, whose piece will be more, he and the head of the family:) This is a joke, but it is very fun guests..This tradition is very many years old. Bread and salt always met the most expensive guests in Russia. The combination of bread and salt played an exceptionally capacious character: bread expressed the desire for wealth and well-being, and salt was considered an amulet capable of protecting a person from hostile forces and influences. The hospitality of the guest with bread and salt established between him and the host a relationship of affection and trust; It is not for nothing that it says: "The king does not refuse bread and salt."
No, I just refuse to believe my eyes
In front of me something I can't recognize
You stood beside me all my life
The heart machines are ticking
I can hear the life support pumping
The line between life and death doesn't become any clearer than this
Covered with an oxygen mask
These words will be his last
With the energy he has got left
He turns to me and say
I can not stand by you
Till the end of the world like I said I would do
No, I won't be able to
Help you carry the weight of the world
My time has come
Silent as a butterfly
I'll be flying beside you
Watching above you
Silent as a butterfly
All of a sudden I've lost my strength
Isn't it scary how things can change
Mm, in an instant just like that
Whenever I had questions
You always had the answers
You taught me about life
And the importance of being yourself
And to highly value honesty
How not to lose grip of reality
With both your feet on the ground
I can not stand by you
Till the end of the world like I said I would do
No, I won't be able to
Help you carry the weight of the world
My time has come
Silent as a butterfly
I'll be flying beside you
Watching above you
Silent as a butterfly
You weren't suppose to see me like this
And I'm sorry, sorry
I must leave, it's my turn
But I will see you soon (soon)
I cannot stand by you
Till the end of the world like I said I would do
No, I won't be able to
Help you carry the weight of the world
My time has come
Silent as a butterfly
I'll be flying beside you
Watching above you
Silent as a butterfly
As A Butterfly - Dead By April
A huge thank you to Abigail Brewer for posing for me in this shot. It wouldn't have felt right to me if I did it without you. ♥♥
Photo taken at Lux Aeterna. Please go check out the beautiful SIM.
The Kunekune pigs are very communicative and I always enjoy a chat with the, although their contribution to the conversation usually revolves around food. They have apple trees on their pasture and occasionally an apple drops from the tree and will immediately be devoured. If the apples refuse to fall the pigs try to convince the visitors to pick one for them.
"Hâtez-vous lentement, et sans perdre courage,
Vingt fois sur le métier remettez votre ouvrage,
Polissez-le sans cesse, et le repolissez,
Ajoutez quelquefois, et souvent effacez".
Dans mon cas pour cette gare, ce n'est pas 20 fois mais plusieurs centaines de fois.
Contrairement à ce que l'on pense souvent, cette formule ne fait pas référence à l’Odyssée d’Homère, dans laquelle Pénélope, la fidélité personnifiée, refuse de reprendre époux malgré l’interminable absence de son mari Ulysse. Et qui, pour éloigner les prétendants, donne comme excuse, des années durant, jusqu'au retour d'Ulysse, la confection d’un large voile qu’elle se doit de terminer avant une éventuelle seconde noce. Mais démonte chaque nuit tout ce qu'elle a tissé durant la journée.
Il s'agit d'une citation de l'écrivain français Nicolas Boileau dit Boileau-Despréaux, extraite de "L’Art poétique", un poème didactique de onze cents alexandrins classiques paru en 1674, qui, à mon sens, garde toute son actualité, près de trois siècles et demi plus tard.
Appartenant au registre désuet, elle signifie : n'hésitez pas à travailler et retravailler inlassablement votre projet ou votre texte, à le peaufiner, à l'instar de l'artisan tisserand, qui ne cesse de remettre, autant de fois qu'il le faudra, son ouvrage (c'est à dire la pièce de tissu qu'il est en train de fabriquer) sur son métier à tisser.
"Make haste slowly, and without losing heart,
Twenty times on the loom hand over your work,
Polish it endlessly, and polish it again,
Add sometimes, and erase often".
In my case for this station, it's not 20 times but several hundred times.
Contrary to what is often thought, this formula does not refer to Homer's Odyssey, in which Penelope, fidelity personified, refuses to take a husband again despite the interminable absence of her husband Ulysses. And who, to ward off the suitors, gives as an excuse, for years, until the return of Ulysses, the making of a large veil that she must finish before a possible second wedding. But dismantles every night everything she has woven during the day.
This is a quote from the French writer Nicolas Boileau dit Boileau-Despréaux, taken from "L'Art poétique", a didactic poem of eleven hundred classic Alexandrians published in 1674, which, in my opinion, retains all its topicality, nearly three and a half centuries later.
Belonging to the obsolete register, it means: do not hesitate to work and tirelessly rework your project or your text, to refine it, like the artisan weaver, who does not cease to put back, as many times as he will need, his work (i.e. the piece of fabric he is making) on his loom.
No wonder he looks so happy: awaiting the merciful jaws of the crusher lorry then the eternal peace and quiet of the landfill until full biodegradation occurs and no trace of his existence is left. Merry Christmas, Mr Box!
Some sunrises whisper. This one arrives like a declaration. Heavy clouds stretch across the horizon, lit from beneath by molten orange and deep ember‑red, as if the sky is remembering something ancient and choosing to say it out loud. The ocean below mirrors the fire above, each wave catching a fragment of color and carrying it toward shore like a message that refuses to be lost.
There’s a quiet tension in scenes like this the kind that makes you stop, breathe, and acknowledge that nature doesn’t need perfection to be profound. The clouds aren’t soft; they’re sculpted. The light isn’t gentle; it’s deliberate. The water isn’t calm; it’s contemplative. Everything in the frame feels like it’s holding its own story, and for a brief moment, all of it aligns.
This is the kind of sunrise that doesn’t just illuminate the world it reveals it.
A reminder that beauty isn’t always delicate. Sometimes it’s bold, dramatic, and impossible to ignore.
My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.
Tofu only rarely leaves his blanket at this time of year, especially when it's as cold as it is right now. I had hoped to take a more interesting photo of him in the garden today but he refused to follow me outside ...
Posted for the Happy Caturday theme "Weather".
The greater blue-ringed octopus is despite its vernacular name a small octopus whose size does not exceed 10 centimeters, arms included, for an average weight of 80 grams. Its common name comes from the relatively large size of its blue ring (7 to 8 millimeters in diameter), so they are indeed larger than those of the other members of the genus and help to distinguish them. The head is slightly flattened dorsoventrally and finished in a tip. Its height arms are short.The coloration of this octopus varies with the circumstances and the ambient environment from yellow ocher to light brown through whitish (when inactive). The blue rings are about 60, spread throughout the entire animal's coat. The rings are roughly circular and are based on a darker blotch than the background color of the coat. A black line, whose thickness can vary to increase the contrast and be more visible, borders the electric blue circles. The blue rings are an aposematic adornment whose purpose is to clearly show to all potential predators that this octopus is highly poisonous. The female then lays between 50 and 100 eggs and guards them by carrying them under her arm until they hatch about 50 days later into planktonic paralarvae. The female then dies as she refuses to eat while she guards her eggs. The blue-ringed octopus is about the size of a pea when hatched then grows to reach the size of a golf ball as an adult. They mature quickly and begin mating the following autumn. Their average lifespan is about 2 years. (Wikipedia)
Lembeh Strait, North Sulawesi, Indonesia
www.istockphoto.com/fr/portfolio/sonja-ooms
This photo has come fifth in the contest "Eyes on the planet". Prize refused to don't make over my rights on it ;-)
just for an extra three years in the geriatric ward ;-)
John Mortimer
HFF!! Ukraine Matters! Resist the Orange Clown Putin Puppet!!!
rose, little theater rose garden, raleigh, north carolina
© Leanne Boulton, All Rights Reserved
Street photography from Glasgow, Scotland, captured in February 2025.
We don't hate AI enough.
Yesterday I saw yet another AI generated image on Explore and, while it was an obvious one to me, there were still many people commenting upon it as if it were a photograph. It reminded me of how AI has ruined my Flickr experience as I often have that doubt now - I view so many images with an initial suspicion. Is it AI? Even from some, though by no means all, of the people that I follow who have occasionally dabbled in AI. That occasional dabbling has lead to suspicion. AI images being so good now that you cannot always tell from an immediate first glance.
I hate that I view images with suspicion now. I hate that AI has done that.
What I hate more is that Generative AI steals from us all. It cannot create anything by itself. Without actual photographs taken by humans with skill and an artistic eye, the AI algorithm would have absolutely nothing. Generative AI is theft and anyone using it is a thief.
As if talentless slop that steals from us all wasn't bad enough, it gets worse.
Huge datacentres in use, and being built to satisfy this AI trend, are swallowing up greater resources than entire cities.
Not only are they making it impossible for individual consumers to buy graphics cards at reasonable prices but they are consuming energy at horrific rates.
Generating pollution at city-scale amounts and, worst of all, consuming vast quantities of potable water.
The WHO has recently declared that we are already, globally, in a state of drinking water bankruptcy. Not enough potable water for biological life and yet we are building machines that use more than entire cities. Machines that we don't need. AI has a use in some limited places but generative AI does nothing but steal from us all to create soulless and talentless slop.
We don't hate AI enough!
We can change this though.
Speak up.
Say NO to AI.
Refuse to use AI.
Let businesses know that you don't want their AI in your products.
Be the change.
Know that I will NEVER post an AI generated image.
This was a man who not only wished to be remembered, he also wanted to tell us how. And the Anglican Church, St Andrew's in Wimpole (Cambridgeshire) in this case, totally agreed and offered its services, as she always used to do, to the self-importance of an overbearing noble family. These were people who automatically, without being voted in, were members of Parliament and representing interests no other than their own. So, I will not give the name of this person (d. 1834) who made sure that he was depicted in the robes and with the paraphernalia of the Knights of the Garter. The hard work of real memory, however, must include all those whose presence and contribution is excluded from this monument of political narcissism. Fuji X-E2.
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Featuring the timeless ONSU - Magnolia House.
The world sits between winter and spring, caught in a restless in-between where frost lingers on the tangled ivy, and the first shy buds push through damp earth. The evergreens stand overgrown, their branches heavy with the weight of seasons past, while the garden—wild and unkempt—refuses to be tamed, a riot of brambles, forgotten herbs, and stubborn roses climbing the weathered cottage walls. Moss clings to the stone path, and the air hums with the promise of warmth, though the wind still carries a bite, a whispered reminder that winter has not yet fully let go.
Primfeed: www.primfeed.com/sylvia.sable/posts/82c17c49-1a55-49c6-92...
Heard a bull frog croaking loudly then walked to the other side of a back pool and found this one hiding in the heavy shade as shown in next photo, but a ray of sunlight finally broke through to light it up. Waited several minutes but it never moved and refused to croak while I was watching so left. I'm sure it wanted to continue call for a mate and didn't want to give up its place. Still wanting to get a photo of one croaking, maybe someday. :)
Not every journey carries us across oceans.
Some happen without moving an inch.
A memory interrupts the present. A question refuses to leave. A hope quietly takes root. A loss returns without warning. While the body remains standing in the middle of a crowded square, the heart has already traveled somewhere no one else can follow.
Perhaps that is why every face deserves more grace than our first impression allows.
We meet people in the middle of conversations they are having with themselves. We encounter them while they are carrying burdens we cannot see, remembering moments we did not witness, or searching for answers they have not yet found.
We often assume we are looking at a person.
More often, we are looking at a moment in someone’s unseen journey.
As irises refuse to bloom in my yard, I was very glad to spot this beauty in Potsdam, in Karl Foerster's aquatic garden on Freundschaftsinsel
I know. Some mornings there is litter in your head. Other times there is litter on the country roads around a lovely fence you might want to photograph.
A wee bit of snow in the distant background.
Happy Fence Friday
As I was focusing on three raindrops that refused to fall from a tree branch near my balcony.
I was reminded of this song sung by B.J. Thomas in 1969.
"Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" is a song written by the great Burt Bacharach and Hal David for the 1969 film "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid".
The uplifting lyrics describe somebody who overcomes his troubles and worries by realising that "it won't be long till happiness steps up to greet me." (Source: Wikipedia)
Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me.
RAINDROPS KEEP FALLING ON MY HEAD, 2025
Mientras estaba enfocando tres gotas de agua que se negaban a caer de la rama de un árbol cerca de mi balcón.
Me acordé de esta canción que cantaba B.J. Thomas en 1969.
"Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" Es una canción escrita por el gran Burt Bacharach y Hal David para la película de 1969 "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" (En España, el título se tradujo como "Dos Hombres y Un Destino".
La letra inspiradora describe a alguien que supera sus problemas y preocupaciones al darse cuenta de que "no pasará mucho tiempo hasta que la felicidad salga a saludarme". (Fuente: Wikipedia)
Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me.
A dream
We had to bin everything, absolutely everything. There was a big container, a huge one, square shaped, as large as long, and we were putting everything in it. Like, the whole world had to be disposed of. Everything.
But I had a few things that I put aside, though, in an small envelope that I cared to keep, salvage: a key, a few papers carefully folded in four, a scribbled note from an ex-colleague.
A lady passed by, lofty and mean.
She saw everything...