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In tangled woods where shadows fall,
A whisper stirs, so faint, so small.
A flutter near the chaparral,
The bushtit weaves its quiet call.
No trumpet song or flash of fire,
Just gentle chirps that never tire.
A wisp of gray, a dash of flight,
It graces dawn and fades from sight.
With feathered kin it moves in cheer,
A social soul that draws in near.
From oak to branch, it hops in play,
In morning gold or dusky gray.
It does not seek the grandest stage,
Nor boastful song from poet's page.
Yet in its humbleness and grace,
It brings calm beauty to this place.
So pause and look with softened eye,
Where leaves may rustle, branches sigh—
For in the stillness, if you sit,
You just might glimpse the bushtit.
Волна, волна.
Бурлит она прозрачна и светла.
Сегодня она так весела.
Окрылена и так вольна,
Что хочется ей побежать,
Кричать, летать.
И птицей стать! инет
🌹・。.・゜✦ **The Tabitha Gown** ✦・。.・゜🌹
A Story of Enchantment and Timeless Grace
The evening began like a whisper of destiny — a hush between twilight and the promise of nightfall. The courtyard glimmered with soft candlelight, its scent of rain and roses curling through the air. I wore my Tabitha Gown by Just Because — its scarlet silk shimmering with a heartbeat of its own. Every fold, every curve of lace seemed to remember a time when beauty was devotion and grace was an unspoken language.
It was there, beneath the arch of wisteria, that I first met him. His presence felt both new and remembered — a prince not of crown, but of soul. Our eyes met, and in that moment, the world stilled. The gentle rustle of my gown was the only sound between us, the fabric glowing under the dim lantern light like living fire.
This gown is born of another era — touched by the romance of Victorian and Rococo influences. Its corseted bodice embraces the figure with regal poise, while lace trims and sweeping skirts recall the salons of Versailles and candlelit dances where hearts were courted with a glance. The craftsmanship carries whispers of centuries past, reimagined for a modern muse who believes love still blooms in timeless form.
The Tabitha Gown is lovingly crafted for LaraX, Legacy, Perky, Reborn, and Waifu mesh bodies — each silhouette perfected for motion, grace, and realism.
And its magic — oh, its magic — lies within its PBR-only HUD, where the light plays upon the fabric as if spun by moonlight. Reflections move like dreams, tracing every contour with lifelike shimmer. Whether under candle glow or starlit skies, the gown feels alive, radiant, and utterly spellbound.
That night, as he took my hand, the world melted into a single moment — the scent of roses, the warmth of his touch, the silk of my gown glowing in scarlet light. Perhaps love does not find us by chance... perhaps it recognizes the way we shine when our hearts are ready.
Find your own moment of destiny in the Tabitha Gown — now available at the Dubai Event
❤️ [Dubai Event SLurl]
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Dubai%20Event/75/128/23
🌹・。.・゜✦・。.・゜✦・。.・゜🌹
One more of Bastian rolling in his play tunnel.
Bastian (mixed breed), 14.02.2017.
Olympus OMD EM5 Digital Camera.
Der Knabe im Moor
O schaurig ist’s über’s Moor zu gehn,
Wenn es wimmelt vom Heiderauche,
Sich wie Phantome die Dünste drehn
Und die Ranke häkelt am Strauche,
Unter jedem Tritte ein Quellchen springt,
Wenn aus der Spalte es zischt und singt,
O schaurig ist’s über’s Moor zu gehn,
Wenn das Röhricht knistert im Hauche.
Annette von Droste-Hülshoff
Das vollständige Gedicht:
www.droste-portal.lwl.org/droste-download/texte/Web-Text-...
***
The Little Lad in the Fen
How creepy it is to cross through the fen
When it’s billowing with haze,
Mists writhing like phantoms,
Bine weaving through bushes;
Up squirts a springlet beneath every step
When hissing and singing come from the gap.
How eerie it is to cross through the fen
When the reed bank rustles in the breeze
The whole poem:
www.droste-portal.lwl.org/droste-download/texte/Web-Text-...
Ballad by Annette von Droste-Hülshoff
pine needles rustle
the reality has lost us
cuckoo call sounds out
-
polaroidweek day three 2/2
triptych, MINT SLR670S, Polaroid color film
-
day thirty-six of my haiku project.
be responsible and watch out for each other! and above all stay safe! #FlatteningTheCurve
you can find all the other haikus here:
It was 8th November and we went to Curzon Richmond
Cinema to watch "Paddington in Peru". Paddington and Matilda had never been to cinema and were very excited
Paddington: "Look, there is a large white quadrangle. It is a screen and we will see the movie there!"
Matilda: "How they will get the movie on that screen?"
Paddington: "The film is projected with a movie projector onto a large projection screen that we see at the front of the auditorium."
Matilda: "Why it is getting so dark! I cannot see you anymore, nor Ilona!"
Paddinton: "A dark environment minimizes distractions, allowing viewers to focus entirely on the film. "
Matilda: ""What, what did you say?"
Paddington: "When the movie starts you have to look only forward! Not at me or Ilona!"
Matilda: "What is that ? I can smell something!"
Paddington: "I smell something too!"
I had to explain to friends that people were eating snacks, particularly popcorn. And crisps. And chocolates. And we could hear the wrapping paper rustle around.
"Do you have a marmelade sandwich in your handbag?" Now both turned back to me in hope I would have at least one:)
🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻
Happy Teddy Bear Tuesday!
In the photo you can see the Epizode of Baby Paddington falling in water and being rescued by aunt Lucy and her husband
#Ab_Fav_STREETSCENES
Yes, a big favourite place for us in Flanders.
A MUST ON OUR VISIT.
Such a lovely silence except for the rustle of the majestic Elm- and tall Poplar leaves.
Those cathedral like trees (the flat landscape needed these ‘wind-stoppers’), dappled light, and again, the silence only broken by a bumblebee, a bird, a distant moo, the shutter of the camera.
A few miles from Brugge and the coast, you have the small town of Damme.
In the Middle-Ages, this used to be the harbour of Brugge, one of the wealthiest cities in the North.
Due to silt the North Sea is now about 25 miles out, but Damme retained it's reputation for good food and beer, wonderful old buildings full of the history of revolutionary Flanders.
Centuries later Napoleon saw the importance of the area and ordered a system of canals to be built.
Today, whichever road you come from, if you want to get to Damme, you'll drive along those beautiful treelined canals.
Here, all the rows of trees, bordering both a cycle/walking path and a bridle path, what an impressive sight.
Have a lovely day, M, (*_*)
For more of my work: www.indigo2photography.com
IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY image or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
Abstract
Double exposure
Alone
Lost in the jungle
It whispers
It rustles
Creeping steps of an animal
It grunz
A bird is screaming somewhere
Cold moonlight shimmers through dense foliage
Er… mushroom.
Well we’ve already had a load of images of interesting mushrooms today. Amazing variety and colours, all beautifully taken…
This isn’t. I thought I would quickly rustle up a little attempt at humour as my contribution to the Smile on Saturday group this week.
This mushroom came from the fridge (it's raining outside, I tell you, and I am nice an warm and snug inside so it's the best you'll get from me today ;) ). I don’t think it grew there but you can’t be too sure these days. It’s cut in two so it is meant to be symmetric… mweh... maybe.
I keep thinking I ought to learn more about our native funghi. It’s an interesting group of non-plants, without which life as we know it couldn’t exist. And they’re secretive, magical and poisonous, and what’s more the fairies like them. What more could you want?
Thank you for taking the time to look. I hope you enjoy the image, even smile. Happy Smile on Saturday :)
[Handheld in directional window daylight against dark card background.
Developed in Capture One starting to take out the background with Levels. A little sharpening.
Processed in Affinity Photo, trying several crops to get the balance right.
Levels to take out the background card.
Inpainting to get rid of some of the swarf from cutting. Soften with Clarity set low and sharpened with Unsharp Mask.
Converted to B&W using Nik Silver Efex, going for high structure and trying to get the tonal balance right, with something relatively high key.
Slight dark vignette mainly to overcome some problems with the background far right.
And there we are. I also tried Topaz - that was a lot of fun, but not for today…]
"A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air."
~Eric Sloane
«Из летних листьев разве сотый /Блестя осенней позолотой /Еще на ветке шелестит.» Фёдор Тютчев
Парк «Володимирська гірка». Київ. Україна.
PRINT NOW AVAILABLE HERE! www.deviantart.com/print/4968608/
__________________________
Photo by Valentina Blasi - © All rights reserved - Mentioning the Author is required by law 633/41.
Fotografia di Valentina Blasi - © Tutti i diritti riservati - Menzione del nome dell'Autore obbligatoria ai sensi legge 633/41.
In the shady garden with you,
the world forgets to speak,
Time rustles softly through leaves,
as your laughter bends the light.
We sit beneath the silence,
where even shadows bloom.
"Farewell, Old Year! the rustle of whose garment,
Fragrant with memory, I still can hear:
For all thy tender kindness and thy bounty
I drop my thankful tribute on thy bier.
What is in store for me, brave New Year, hidden
Beneath thy glistening robe of ice and snows?
Are there sweet songs of birds, and breath of lilacs,
And blushing blooms of June's scent-laden rose?..."
- Julia B. Cady
I would like to thank all Flickr friends and members for their support and loyalty during 2016...
I also would like to wish to all Flickr people a happy, healthy and peaceful New Year 2017...!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to all for 12,000.000+ views and kind comments ... !
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
I saw an image a few weeks ago I thought looked quite interesting. It reminded me I’ve wanted to capture Mow Cop castle for some time with a pair of lovers kissing in the archway, encircled and silhouetted by one of those supermoons that seem to crop up every so often. However to get the shot is no small matter and is all to do with timing, alignment and weather .........and I can’t just rustle up a pair of lovers to kiss in the archway when I am stood over 4 miles away either. I also need to be at the right height to do it. Which is about a thousand feet above sea level.
So I missed the last ‘worm’ moon, but with some recent bright sunsets I set off recently to Lask Edge to try to line up the descending curve of the setting sun, so that at the point at which it set it would be immediately behind Mow Cop. I spent ages going up and down the line of the hill to get the right alignment and then sat and waited. And all was looking good. A nice clear disc of a sun in a clear sky……….until it hit a bank of cloud and shortly afterwards disappeared. Much of photography is about being lucky enough to be in the perfect place just at the right time, but sometimes you have to work at it, try, try again, often being thwarted by weather, circumstance or two lovers falling out instead of kissing at the perfect moment. I was disappointed with this result but I'm keen to perfect it.
I’ve now got daughter and partner (due to marry in June) on standby to dash up to Mow Cop whilst I head off to Lask Edge. I will try to get it better next time. Alternatively if anyone wants to do star jumps or a scorpion at sunset, or kiss a stranger let me know and I will see what I can do.
I felt this photo needed some poetry to describe it. I searched and found this poem which I think portrays the feeling in this image very well.
The sunset has faded, there's but a tinge,
Saffron pale, where a star of white
Has tangled itself in the trailing fringe
Of the pearl-gray robe of the summer night.
O the green of the barley fields grows deep,
The breath of the barley fields grows rare;
There is rustle and glimmer, sway and sweep--
The wind is holding high revel there,
Singing the song it has often sung--
Hark to the troubadour glad and bold:
"Sweet is the earth when the summer is young
And the barley fields are green and gold!"
by Jean Blewett
Wearing one of the most beautiful dresses I have ever seen in SL. The Enfant Terrible Verona Dress. The texture, the options the whole thing. Perfection. Get this at the Mainstore.
.ET. Pearl of Verona Dress Juicy (Reborn) Fatpack
.ET. Pearl of Verona Sleeves (Reborn) Fatpack
HEAD / lel evox / CAMILA 4.0
GHS Bianca Trinzale
Random Matter - Reigna Ruff
RAON l Mikaela Buns
REBORN - Juicy Boobs - Addon v1.4
REBORN by eBODY v1.69.6
The rustling of leaves under the feet in woods and under
hedges;
The crumpling of cat-ice and snow down wood-rides,
narrow lanes and every street causeway;
Rustling through a wood or rather rushing, while the wind
halloos in the oak-toop like thunder;
The rustle of birds' wings startled from their nests or flying
unseen into the bushes;
The whizzing of larger birds overhead in a wood, such as
crows, puddocks, buzzards;
The trample of robins and woodlarks on the brown leaves.
and the patter of squirrels on the green moss;
The fall of an acorn on the ground, the pattering of nuts on
the hazel branches as they fall from ripeness;
The flirt of the groundlark's wing from the stubbles –
how sweet such pictures on dewy mornings, when the
dew flashes from its brown feathers.
John Clare
With heartfelt and genuine thanks for your kind visit. Have a wonderful, beautiful day. Be well, keep your eyes open, appreciate the beauty around you, enjoy creating, stay safe, and laugh often! ❤️❤️❤️
I was inspired by one of my photographs of Bordeaux to create an ink and watercolor painting on paper, digitally crafted with delicate strokes and vibrant colors. The scene I captured depicted a midday moment in a bustling square, where restaurants lined the streets and locals and tourists alike gathered to enjoy a leisurely outdoor lunch. The painting beautifully showcased the city's stunning architecture in a relaxed atmosphere.
The first thing that caught my eye was the architectural splendor that surrounded the square. Elegant buildings adorned with ornate facades stood proudly, their warm hues reflecting the sunlight that bathed the scene. Each detail, from the intricately designed balconies to the charming window shutters, was meticulously recreated in the painting, capturing the essence of Bordeaux's architectural heritage.
In the heart of the square, tables and chairs were arranged outside the restaurants, inviting passersby to take a moment to savor the culinary delights on offer. The air was filled with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses as people savored their meals and engaged in lively conversations. Locals and tourists mingled harmoniously, creating a vibrant tapestry of cultures and languages, all united in their shared enjoyment of this enchanting city.
The atmosphere in the painting exuded a sense of relaxation and contentment. Sunlight bathed the scene, casting soft shadows that danced on the cobblestone pavement. A gentle breeze seemed to rustle the leaves of the nearby trees, adding a touch of movement and life to the painting. The vibrant colors of the flower-filled window boxes added a splash of natural beauty to the already picturesque scene.
As I painted this scene, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for the time I spent in Bordeaux. The painting became a visual representation of the city's charm, evoking memories of leisurely strolls through its streets, indulging in delicious cuisine, and immersing myself in the rich culture and history that permeated every corner.
Through this watercolor painting, I aimed to capture the essence of Bordeaux—a city where architectural grandeur meets a relaxed and inviting atmosphere, where locals and visitors come together to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. It serves as a testament to the beauty and allure of this remarkable place, and a personal tribute to the memories I hold dear.
20220426_RX_08277_BORDEAUX
🍊✨ CANDY OUTFIT — by JUMO ✨🍊*
Exclusive at SWANK Winter Wonderland Event
There are mornings—quiet, silver-washed mornings—when I slip into something that feels like poetry against my skin. And today, beneath the soft rustle of the garden vines and the winter sunlight drifting through the glass, I found myself wrapped in the breathtaking Candy Outfit by JUMO… a look that whispers of elegance, heritage, and the magnetic pull of old-world cinema.
A Silhouette Born of Classic Beauty
I felt the transformation instantly—
the sleek, sweeping pant leg elongates my frame with a sculptural grace, its drape recalling the golden era of 1930s bias-cut trousers worn by screen sirens who moved like water: Marlene Dietrich, Katharine Hepburn, Carole Lombard. Women who dared to rewrite femininity with sophistication and tailored poise.
The lace-embroidered top, fitted yet whisper-light, wraps my torso in intricate artistry—like frost tracing a windowpane. Its high neckline and sculpted shoulders bring back the drama of couture ateliers from post-war Paris, where Dior’s New Look celebrated the triumphant return of elegance. Every swirl of pattern feels hand-touched, intimate, almost romantic.
And then there is the satin sash—a soft ribbon of light that cinches the waist with a gentle bow, a nod to mid-century Hollywood glamour when actresses like Grace Kelly and Lauren Bacall wore draped accents that turned their silhouettes into living sculpture. The sash moves when I breathe… a quiet, feminine exhale.
A Wardrobe Painter’s Dream — The HUD
But what truly awakens the dreamer in me is the incredible Candy Outfit HUD, a sumptuous palette of satins, paisleys, metallic sheens, deep jewel tones, classic monochromes, vintage prints, and ornate lacework.
It feels like opening a designer’s private paint box.
💠 Satin Color Blocks— creamy whites, vivid reds, ocean teals, golds, violets, and sky-bright blues
💠 Paisley Prints — intricate, luxurious patterns evoking 60s bohemian couture
💠 Lace Options — delicate overlays that merge modern sensibility with old-world charm
💠 Metallic Accents — gold, silver, copper, and black glossy textures to elevate the mood
💠 Mix-and-match freedom that lets me tell a different story every time I wear it
This is not just an outfit—it's a full couture wardrobe inside a single HUD.
Compatible Mesh Bodies
The Candy Outfit is lovingly crafted for:
LaraX • Legacy • Perky • Reborn • Waifu
A Romance of Style
As I lounge in the garden—hat tilted, lips softly colored, lace shimmering under the winter light—I feel timeless.
Not belonging to one era, but to every era that ever celebrated a woman unapologetically beautiful.
This is my Candy moment, my JUMO moment…
a romance sewn into fabric.
✨ Available Now — Exclusively at SWANK Winter Wonderland ✨
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Swank%20Events/128/124/39
“Elegance is not about being noticed, it’s about being remembered.” — Giorgio Armani
And in the Candy Outfit… I promise you, I am.
I must confess I’ve seen something similar to this before so I can’t really take credit for the concept. But I had spoons, syrup and waffles so just the right ingredients to rustle up a spot of sweet, sweet plagiarism.
A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things
[George R.R. Martin]
Cambridge slipped into its autumn colors as she rode—
cool air threading through the streets,
leaves gathering in soft rustles along the curbs.
Her coat lifted slightly in the breeze,
boots steady on the pedals,
moving with the easy certainty of someone
who knows exactly where she’s going,
even if the day hasn’t fully decided its direction yet.
Behind her, the old brick blurred into warm tones,
a city shifting toward winter one breath at a time.
But she rode ahead of it all—
a clean, swift line of motion
cutting through the calm of a Cambridge fall.
That amazing moment when you here a rustle in the Brambles. A Fox maybe.....Stop.....Wait..... Patience......when out walks a ........Marsh Harrier just 10ft away. On the verge of being dark but still a magical moment.
Photo uncropped.
Rye 03-11-20
It's potato delivery day at the old Georgetown General Store in South Australia's mid-north. The old farmer has gone in to rustle up some crates to load them in while another hopeful local is looking to do a deal and get them straight from truck to trunk!
This is one of those wonderful old country town general stores where you could buy almost anything, and still appears to be in business today.
*********************************
A forced perspective of the old store as a backdrop for two 1/24th scale models - A 1948 FX Holden (48-215) and a 1953 Chevrolet 3100 pickup truck.
Scale model potatoes courtesy of the breakfast cereal cupboard and a little cocoa powder for soil!
(If this looks familiar to my regular followers, that is because I have tried it a few times in the past, but keep trying to do better. The lighting on previous ones has left room for improvement.)
I thought I'd leave the winter framework for a moment and take a breath of somewhat warmer air of last autumn.
I took this photo as we were returning from a hike to a small cave located at the foot of a mountain, hidden amid bushes and trees in a miniature dell not far from a stream (to which the cave was said to be connected through a subterranean passage). We were physically weary yet happy after the day's walk. The sun was hovering over the western ridges, sending a warm, golden glow over the vast expanse of the Klodzko Valley. At this point we were headed towards the tiny village of Gniewoszów with its white contour of St. Michael's church.
As we sat on the left bank of the path, feeling the cool breeze, listening to the rustle of grass swaying to what rhythm I knew not, our eyes skimming over the multitude of dots: traces of human habitation, bespeckling the sides of the hills or huddled together by the few inconspicuous, meandering waterways, I realized I was experiencing one of the most beautiful moments in my life.
Il gregge risale lentamente i crinali delle montagne maceratesi nel quotidiano ritorno all’ovile, accompagnato dal fruscio ondeggiante dell’erba.
The flock slowly climbs the ridges of the Macerata mountains in the daily ritual of returning to the fold, accompanied by the swaying rustle of the grass.
DSC04117 (2)-bis-2-2-2
Whispers of Dawn in Lataguri — Where Mist Meets Tea Leaves and Mornings Begin in Silence
A gentle mist clings to the rows of lush green tea bushes as the first light of dawn filters through the trees. The air is cool, crisp, and filled with the earthy aroma of fresh leaves. Birds begin their morning songs, and a soft breeze rustles through the garden, creating a serene and almost magical atmosphere. Lataguri wakes slowly, wrapped in the quiet charm of a perfect tea garden morning.
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
William Butler Yeats
Great Gray Owl (Strix nebulosa) hears a rustle of rodent activity in the grass below it, while sitting on a post on the edge of the mixed woods of the boreal forest near Thorhild, Alberta, Canada.
30 October, 2018.
Slide # GWB_20181030_5864.CR2
Use of this image on websites, blogs or other media without explicit permission is not permitted.
© Gerard W. Beyersbergen - All Rights Reserved Worldwide In Perpetuity - No Unauthorized Use.
Here's a wee Ai tale to warm up a grey Scottish day:
"Vital Spark and the Rainy-Day Rescue"
It was a dreich old morning in Inveraray. The sky hung low like a damp woolly jumper, and rain pattered down the harbour stones in gentle rhythm. But out in the bay, bobbing proudly among the mist, sat the little Clyde puffer Vital Spark, her smokestack puffing cheerfully despite the gloom.
Aboard her was Captain Para Handy, tugging his cap down low. “Och, it’s the sort o’ day that would make even a seagull stay in bed,” he muttered, staring out at the grey Loch Fyne.
Just then, a wee puffin fluttered by in a fluster. “Help!” it cried. “The Argyll picnic has washed out! The children are sad and soggy, and they’ve nowhere warm to go!”
Para Handy’s eyes lit up. “Vital Spark’s no just for hauling coal and tatties—we’ll throw a party onboard!”
And so, the puffer chugged to shore, sounding her hooter with a proud toot-toot!. Children in dripping wellies came clambering aboard, their laughter quickly outshining the raindrops.
Dougie the engineer rustled up hot mugs of cocoa. The deck was strung with bunting fashioned from old tea towels. Even the rain seemed to soften, as if it wanted to listen in.
They sang shanties, danced little jigs, and Para Handy told tales of sea monsters and starfish with Scottish accents. The Vital Spark, once just a working boat, sparkled like her name.
By the time the clouds cleared and the hills turned gold under the evening sun, the children declared it the best picnic they’d ever had.
And from that day on, everyone in Inveraray agreed: on a dreich day, the Vital Spark could still brighten the world.
July 4th, 1863
Camp near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
Dearest Sarah,
I write to you with trembling hands but a grateful heart. The battle here has been fierce beyond words—three days of thunder and fire. Many good men have fallen, and I thank the Lord I still draw breath to send you this.
The fields are quiet now, save for the groans of the wounded and the rustle of the wind through the trees. We held the line, and the Rebels are retreating. I saw courage in every corner—boys no older than our William standing firm as cannonballs tore the earth around them.
I long for your voice, your bread, and the peace of our porch. Tell the children their father fights not just for the Union, but for a future where they may live free and whole.
With all my love,
Your devoted husband,
Thomas
A cool Autumn wind rustles the leaves on a Maple Tree creating a lovely Fall back drop as a squirrel searches for her afternoon snack.
Autumn landscape 20251114
In this autumn portrait, the beech forests of the Lessinia seem to breathe in amber light, their leaves holding the last warm whisper of the season. Beyond them, the shoulders of Monte Baldo rise in quiet majesty, their muted tones shaped by wind, time, and ancient stone. And far in the distance—almost a dream suspended on the horizon—the Adamello group glimmers in its early winter cloak, sharp and luminous against the gentle haze.
The landscape unfolds like a slow crescendo: from the intimate rustle of autumn woods to the solemn stillness of high, snow-crowned peaks. It is a moment where seasons meet, where earth and sky trade colors, and where the mountains seem to carry the memory of every dawn that ever touched them.
A photograph like a deep breath—crisp, serene, and full of quiet wonder.
That strange moment when you have to stop and just check your on you own.!! all you can hear are your own footsteps and the rustle of a waterproof jacket
I hope you like it and thank you for looking
Mist, especially in a forest, seems particularly conducive to contemplation: all sounds are muffled save for the slightest of rustle generated by water droplets scurrying down needles, leaves, blades of grass, tree bark, and then permeating the soil...
The forest, bathed in the warm light of autumn, reminds us how fleeting everything is. The colors blaze with one last burst of color before fading – a silent reminder that our time, too, is finite.
When the leaves rustle underfoot and the path unfolds before us in golden splendor, we sense: Now is the moment we truly possess. Not tomorrow, not yesterday – only this one.
Autumn shows us how beautiful change can be. It invites us not to postpone life, but to live it fully: to find joy, to be grateful, to discover happiness in small things. To enjoy nature.
And it whispers to us that the daily grind is only one part of our existence – important, yes, but not everything. We shouldn't allow it to dictate what truly fills our hearts.
Just as the trees shed their leaves, we, too, can strip away what is superfluous to make room for what is essential: time that we consciously experience. Moments that nourish us. Moments that remain – even when everything else fades away.
Der Wald im warmen Licht des Herbstes erinnert uns daran, wie flüchtig alles ist. Die Farben lodern noch einmal in voller Kraft, bevor sie vergehen – ein stiller Hinweis darauf, dass auch unsere Zeit begrenzt ist.
Wenn das Laub unter den Füßen raschelt und der Weg sich golden vor uns ausbreitet, spüren wir: Jetzt ist der Moment, den wir wirklich besitzen. Nicht der morgige, nicht der gestrige – nur dieser.
Der Herbst zeigt uns, wie schön Veränderung sein kann. Er lädt uns ein, das Leben nicht aufzuschieben, sondern zu leben: Freude zu finden, dankbar zu sein, das Glück in kleinen Dingen zu entdecken. Die Natur zu genießen.
Und er flüstert uns zu, dass der Arbeitsalltag nur ein Teil unseres Daseins ist – wichtig, ja, aber nicht alles. Wir sollten ihm nicht erlauben, über das zu regieren, was unser Herz erfüllt.
So wie die Bäume ihre Blätter loslassen, dürfen auch wir Überflüssiges abstreifen, um Platz für das Wesentliche zu schaffen: Zeit, die wir bewusst erleben. Momente, die uns nähren. Augenblicke, die bleiben – auch wenn alles andere vergeht.
She is almost 11 years old and still has a playful kitten inside, which her human Lene has to entertain daily...
Dushara Cathal Caithlin (Somali cat), 11.11.2018.
Olympus OMD EM5 Digital Camera
This was taken with Industar61, but it could have easily been Pentacon50 or to a lesser degree Helios 44-2. Wide open in certain compositions they all look very similar. Although, I think Industar61 is sharper wide open then the other 2 and the edges of the bokeh bubbles are a tiny bit more defined maybe. I should try to photograph the same thing wide open with all of these lenses and see the differences and similarities.
NikonD7500
Industar - 61 L/Z (2,8 / 50)
f2.8
1/200
ISO100
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Arrivederci Mamma - Goodbye Mom
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Immagine mai pubblicata
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Un’altra scena nella casa di cura “Casa per anziani “Padre Pio” a Palermo e non avendo la mia macchina fotografica con me ho usato per questa ripresa il Samsung Galaxy Note 8 e sono rimasto nuovamente sorpreso dalla buona risoluzione e dalla qualità. Ecco il risultato…(ho effettuato dopo un ampio reportage che sarà oggetto di una mostra), in attesa un assaggio…..
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Dati Tecnici
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a) Samsung Galaxy Note 8 Versione 256GB di memoria e 6GB di Ram;
b ) Fotocamera Cellulare senza aggiuntivi ottici
c) Tempo 1/17s apertura a f.1,53 di stop (a mano libera no flash);
d) Focale nell'ottica 4mm, rapportata al 35mm circa 26mm, ISO/ASA 250
e) Tecnica di impressione del sensore (Tecnica dell'Esposizione a Destra)
f) Lettura Esposimetrica in Media a Prevalenza Centrale con esposimetro esterno Sekonic DualSpot F-L-778 effettuate 6 letture;
g) Messa a fuoco (auto).
g) Lux Warm Ambiente Incandescenza 2680° kelvin diretta su parete bianca e sul soggetto
h) Prima Post-Produzione per effettuare un minimo intervento del bilanciamento tonale nelle varie aree del file, nelle ampie zone dei neri e nei bianchi per compensare la temperatura cromatica della luce molto calda (lampada ad incandescenza 60Watt "2680° kelvin" circa) con Nikon Capture NX 2
i) Seconda Post-Produzione con Adobe Photoshop CS6 per il bilanciamento della compensazione dell’Esposizione con le zone d’ombra;
l) Post-Produzione di completamento con Nikon Capture NX 2.
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Nessuna immagine o parte di essa può essere riprodotta o trasmessa in qualsiasi forma e con qualsiasi mezzo senza preventiva autorizzazione.
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All rights reserved ©2020/2030 by ArchiMlFotoWord/Luigi Mirto/Photography
No images or part thereof may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means
Without prior permission.
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Vi consiglio di guardare l’immagine e ascoltare questo brano:
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Edward Scissorhands OST The Grand Finale
www.youtube.com/watch?v=udKB8Rjhs7Y
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nell’oblio del sonno...
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Attraverso i rami secchi
il forte vento se ne va,
raccoglie le ultime foglie che
l’autunno ha lasciato cadere.
Corrono fra i viali
quelle foglie secche
fra le gambe della gente
che infreddolita, indifferente,
e passo svelto va via
per il suo sentiero.
La fredda e solitaria luna
fa capolino, Illumina appena
il passo e una panchina,
si nasconde timida
fra le passeggere nuvole
dal pallido e melanconico alone.
Quante volte ho pianto
tante volte t’ho attesa,
in me il tuo perpetuo ricordo.
Solo, distante dal mondo,
tutte le insonne notti
durano un lamento d’anime
che se ne vanno in silenzio
e si perdono….
nell’oblio del sonno....
col fruscio delle fronde.
E là… leggera te ne vai
sulla brezza del gelido vento,
tendo a te le braccia
ma….non posso sfiorarti,
con gli occhi non riesco a vederti
ma solo col cuore posso abbracciarti,
ricordo che...
ti ho persa per sempre,
sei andata via in silenzio
fra le ultime ombre della sera.
……………………….……Luigi Mirto
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in the oblivion of sleep...
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Through the dry branches
the strong wind goes away,
collects the last leaves that
autumn has dropped.
They run between the avenues
those dry leaves
between people's legs
that cold, indifferent,
and quickly goes away
on its path.
The cold and lonely moon
peeps, it just shines
the step and a bench,
she hides shyly
among the passing clouds
with a pale and melancholy halo.
How many times have I cried
many times I have waited for you,
in me your perpetual memory.
Alone, far from the world,
all the sleepless nights
they last a lament of souls
who go away in silence
and get lost….
in the oblivion of sleep ....
with the rustle of the leaves.
And there ... lightly you go
on the breeze of the icy wind,
I extend my arms to you
but ... I can't touch you,
with my eyes I can't see you
but only with my heart can I embrace you,
I remember that...
I have lost you forever,
you went away in silence
among the last shadows of the evening.
………………………. …… Luigi Mirto
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The poor duckling then decided to run away.
He crossed fields and meadows, swam on the water for a long time, but because of his ugliness he was neglected from all animals. One evening a flock of large, beautiful birds emerged from the bushes; never had the duckling seen such beautiful birds. They were swans, dazzlingly white, with long, lithe necks and large white wings. I want to go to those royal birds! – And he flew into the water heading towards them. But what did he ever see in the clear water? He saw the image of him beneath him, and it was no longer the ugly bird he once was, grey and awkward, he too was a magnificent swan with white wings and as he rustled his feathers of his beautiful wings and held his slender neck high, he cried out with a full heart: "I never dreamed there could be so much happiness, when I was the ugly duckling."
(Hans Cristian Andersen – The Ugly Duckling)
Mitt lilla torp är min favoritplats. Här är det lugnt och stilla och man kan njuta av skogens sus och fåglarnas sång vid den här tiden på året. Det ligger vid vägs ände och byggdes runt 1830 och hette då Hästfallet. Hästfallet betyder att det är en åker där tidigare fanns skog (fälld/fallen skog) Och sannolikt var här en hästhage på den tiden. När det såldes 1834 till Erik Larsson och hans hustru Britta Andersdotter bytte det namn till Erikslund och så heter det än idag.
🌻🌻🌻
My little cottage is my favorite place. Here it is calm and quiet and you can enjoy the rustle of the forest and the song of the birds at this time of year. It is located at the end of the road and was built around 1830 and was then called Hästfallet (The Horse Fall). The horse fall means that it is a field where there used to be forest (felled/fallen forest) And there was probably a horse paddock here at the time. When it was sold in 1834 to Erik Larsson and his wife Britta Andersdotter, it changed its name to Erikslund and it is still called that today.