View allAll Photos Tagged ghosting
Shoveling sand to build a burrow and an adjacent sandcastle, this horn-eyed ghost crab scoops and carries with the large left claw then flings the sand with the smaller right claw. Interestingly, individuals are right or left clawed (laterality). Males heap the excavated sand high in the intertidal zone of a broad sandy beach, thought to be a territorial signal to other crabs or to attract a potential mate. Running along the beach at up to 10 mph, they must be the fastest crustacean. Ghost crabs range across the Indo-Pacific and Polynesia. This one’s horns on top of its eye stalks seem a bit diminutive.
During a heavy downpour in Bandarawela, Sri Lanka, I noticed this wet ghost through the windscreen of our van!
You know I'm like a ghost
Sometimes I have to fade
And it haunts me that I have to be this way
You say it's gone cold
I say I'll do better
But I always seem to disappear again
You know I'm like a ghost
I see it in your face
And it haunts me that I have to be this way
You say it's gone cold
I say I'll do better
But I always seem to disappear again
You know I'm like a ghost
You know I'm like a ghost...
Ooh, I'll be OK
I'll be alright
I know, Ooh, I'll be OK
I'm just scared that I'll end up alone
Taken at Kiyori
the lost city of dvigrad, istria, croatia.
once an important center of commerce, now left.
legends say, that the famous captain morgan hid his treasure in the ruins of dvigrad.
A ghost tree has a front row seat for viewing the Boat Mesa neighborhood near Fairyland Pt. at Bryce Canyon National Park, May, 2025. This is such a cool part of the park.
A mythical ghost ship carrying Cannibal Rats which sails the Thames around Royal Docks, London at night.
But seriously now, it is a 124-metre floating hotel anchored at London's Docklands.
Canon 6D
EF 17-40mm+ND1000
ISO 50 F/11
2 shots vertical panorama
- best viewed on black background ( just press L key when desktop viewing ;) )
The old Roman road of Stane Street to Halnaker windmill Built by the Romans in the first decade of their occupation 43-53 AD, the 57 mile Roman road from Chichester to London, I did like the walkers in the darker area off in the distance, I used my tripod here on it`s lowest legs which would have my camera about a foot off the ground to take in all those lovely coloured leaves.
This house in the ghost town of Rowley, Alberta, must have really been something back in its heyday.
this hidden road
dark and cold
has ghosts that play
they dance on the road
so souls get lost
in the trees
La vie est un sommeil et la mort est le temps du réveil, et l’homme marche entre l’un et l’autre comme un fantôme. (proverbe oriental). Life is sleep, and death is the time of awakening, and man walks between the two like a ghost. (eastern proverb)
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GHOST 37 Arriving from an offshore NATO Vessel to up lift naval personel.
United States Navy
Sikorsky MH-60S Knighthawk
167847
Edinburgh Airport, Scotland
21st October 2018
The ghostbus is back.
Having departed this world nearly three years ago with the stench of Covid-19, the original ghostbus tour of Dublin is back, scary stories, graveyards & churches in a night time 2 hour tour of the city's murky past.
There's plenty of ghosts & ghouls lurking on O'Connell Street in the hours of darkness.
Ghostbus "Lucy " is seen on the first evening of the return on 13th September 2022 on O'Connell Street, operating three times a week at 7 & 9.30 pm....if you dare.
Kate Ryan - Désenchantée Remix. . . Its an awesome version^^
Kate Ryan- Desénchantée or Mylène Farmer - Désenchantée
Nager dans les eaux troubles
Des lendemains
Attendre ici la fin
Flotter dans l'air trop lourd
Du presque rien
A qui tendre la main
Si je dois tomber de haut
Que ma chute soit lente
Je n'ai trouvé de repos
Que dans l'indifférence
Pourtant, je voudrais retrouver l'innocence
Mais rien n'a de sens, et rien ne va
Tout est chaos
A côté
Tous mes idéaux, des mots
Abimés
Je cherche une âme, qui
Pourra m'aider
Je suis d'une
Génération désenchantée,
Désenchantée...
English^^
To swim in troubled waters
for days,
To wait here for the end.
To float in air, too heavy
from almost nothing.
To whom to reach out a hand?
If I must fall from high,
May my fall be gentle.
I found rest only in indifference.
Still, I would like to find innocence again,
But nothing makes sense and nothing goes right.
All is Chaos,
On all sides,
All my ideals; the words overwhelmed,
I look for a soul who is able to help me.
I am of a disenchanted generation.
Disenchanted ...
Taken at "Dead man´s Chest" pure SL
"The Ghosts of my life,
Blow wilder, than before...."
Japan, 1982 (in case you were wondering...)
I have looked out on this particular view on what must be hundreds of morning dog walks, and photographed it many, many times, and yet each time it looks both different and yet the same...
I originally thought "Ghosts" when I saw how the mist transforms the landscape into more and more indistinct, "ghostly" outlines as distance increases - an effect well known to photographers and painters, "aerial perspective".
This triggered more "cranial wanderings" about all the times I have stood in this exact same spot looking at this exact same view, and yet how different each day looks. AND how different the experience - different weather, different light, different dogs, different people - the same, but not the same.
When I look at this view, I don't only see what there is to simply see, but also all the recalled experiences from the past too - the photograph itself is just a collection of pixels, it is the mind and imagination that assigns the meaning, based not just on aesthetic values, but also on personal experience - I tend to photograph not just what I love to look at in a photograph, but what I actually love, as I suspect is the case with most people.
Thus, I see not only what I photographed, but the "ghosts" of my own experiences, all of which is part of the idea of "capturing a beautiful moment forever".
Not only my own photographs of course are like this - I know when I look at another photographers "pixels" I am able to assign not just values of an aesthetic nature to the image, but also draw upon my own experience and imagination to truly experience and "identify" with some part of the experience expressed by the photographer.
And thus we not only express aesthetic values in our images, but also our common experiences and values - a shared love of what we see, feel and experience.
Twenty One Pilots: Stressed Out
I wish I found some better sounds no one's ever heard,
I wish I had a better voice that sang some better words,
I wish I found some chords in an order that is new,
I wish I didn't have to rhyme every time I sang,
I was told when I get older all my fears would shrink,
But now I'm insecure and I care what people think.
My name's 'Blurryface' and I care what you think.
My name's 'Blurryface' and I care what you think.
Wish we could turn back time, to the good ol' days,
When our momma sang us to sleep but now we're stressed out.
Wish we could turn back time, to the good ol' days,
When our momma sang us to sleep but now we're stressed out.
We're stressed out.
Sometimes a certain smell will take me back to when I was young,
How come I'm never able to identify where it's coming from,
I'd make a candle out of it if I ever found it,
Try to sell it, never sell out of it, I'd probably only sell one,
It'd be to my brother, 'cause we have the same nose,
Same clothes homegrown a stone's throw from a creek we used to roam,
But it would remind us of when nothing really mattered,
Out of student loans and treehouse homes we all would take the latter.
My name's 'Blurryface' and I care what you think. . . .
Pic taken at Elysion SL
Stone Harbor Point NJ.
Many thanks to all who take the time to view, comment and favoring my images. Enjoy the day.
Square Trees Series
Covehithe, Suffolk, England, UK
"I was much further out than you thought. And not waving but drowning."
- Stevie Smith (1972)
The Suffolk coastline on the east of England has some of the worst coastal erosion in Europe. The tiny village of Covehithe has almost been lost to the North Sea, and visitors now come to see the ruins and the crumbling cliffs. Local farmers are losing fields and woodland. When trees topple off the cliff there begins a slow, inexorable surrender to the sea. The waves and sand strip the trees bare, and they take on a smooth aesthetic. At spring tide, the surf comes up to the cliffs and the bones of the trees take on the look of ghostly apparitions clawing for help; not waving, but drowning.