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This is an old photo, but I thought some of you may be interested to see it after yesterday's Rope in the Sky, so I'm re-posting it. These clouds were like a series of mini-tornados.
I took this southeast of Quincy, Illinois while I was out practicing my moon shots. Still haven't mastered that moon. Here the moon had slipped behind a band of clouds.
Have a great week and thanks for stopping by!
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Over our home.
As always, thank you for your comments and faves. I appreciate your taking the time to visit.
Finally after few days of poor weather some clouds showed up instead of this useless depressing milky-sky. So let's go out and shoot!
Ladies and gentleman this photo is dedicated to my wife. When she saw this she said: "Oh. Yyy... How? It was so awful there! And this?". Magic :)
Manipulations: HDR from single RAW file. Photomatix and PS Ninja-Moves included. Some work with bringing the sharpness and clouds up.
I woke up to intense rain this morning fearing that the air show would be cancelled today. However, sunlight cracked the clouds and after an hour or more delay the organizers decided the show must go on. Some very dark clouds popped up here and there but they just added to the drama.
The Cloud
Percy Bysshe Shelley
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning, my pilot, sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aery nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.
I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,--
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-colored bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
Thanks for stopping by and view this photo. The reason for posting this photo on Flickr is to learn so if you have constructive feedback regarding what I could do better and / or what I should try, drop me a note I would love to hear your input.
View On Black the way it should be seen!
-- Let the sound of the shutter always guide you to new ventures.
© 2015 Winkler
IAPP Member: US#12002
We were driving the back roads in central New Mexico when a storm began to build. I t was great watching these clouds build into a large thunderstorm.
taken from Bow Lake
Banff National Park
Prints are available on my website
Deviantart | Facebook | Flickr | 500px
Oh those blue skies are very nice
but if you stop to think twice,
by clouds they are enhanced
and they keep us all entranced.
When fascination takes root
photographs we must shoot,
and with camera in hand
we will wander the land.
When we start to obsess
of cloudscapes to possess,
life takes on a new meaning
and there’s no time for cleaning!
The weather may be foul or fair
but there’ll still be clouds up there,
and we can take photo’s galore
then stop, to take just one more.
Of our collections we are proud
especially that elusive cloud,
and to catch an optical effect
can really make our day perfect.
© Jackie S Brooks 2011