View allAll Photos Tagged laughter
with a little help, Kristin finally manages to get her first tooth out.
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Strobist:
Gridded octa above and to the right of camera. Ring light for fill, collapsed silver umbrella camera left and behind.
So this is a shot of one of my oldest friends here in Australia - Wendy. I've known Wendy since I first arrived backpacking about 27 years ago , she had just arrived too from the UK - we were both waitressing in a dogend of a cafe and both got sacked or walked off half way through the shift...can't remember the details as we laughed so much. Like great old friends sometimes you just don't see them for a long time and then when you do - time disappears and you are right back in those moments and time just melts away.
Of course with my leica in hand I am now referencing every photographer through the early 20th century that I love and trying to replicate them with Ms. Leicalikethat ;)))))
Two Cambodian women who have been washing laundry in a creek laugh as one pulls a tiny crab from her basket. Completely at ease in each other's company, they are part of the beauty of the land around them.
Laughing Gull (Leucophaeus atricilla) ~ Pinellas County
Love was in the air as these laughing gulls display courtship on the beach.
Thanks for visiting!
…. is the sun that drives winter from the human face. Victor Hugo
Thank you Mat for the texture
www.flickr.com/photos/texturonline/5615389161/in/set-7215...
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This is from the archives. For some reason I was thinking about it as I drove to work today. I was remembering that day and how we went to the park for our lunch hour on a sunny day. We lay in the grass at my favorite park and he made me laugh so hard I cried. He took this picture. Only I can’t remember what he said to make me laugh. I only know he does this often and it’s only one of the reasons I’m so in love with him. He just makes things better.
From years ago but still two of my favorite boat names,
Morro Bay, California
They say it's the best medicine.
These two cannot make it through a shoot with out laughter. I am sure I know who started it. Always fun times!
With rain falling thought i would go through some old pics, this is a cute one i wish A was looking to the camera but i love their grins and how one year apart A has front teeth and J doesn't.
In the far reaches of the Rockburn Valley, where the land’s breath hangs heavy with the chill of glaciers, a river cuts its course—a living vein of turquoise light. It churns and twists over stones slick with moss so deep and green it seems pulled from the memory of the earth itself. The water is restless, not rushing but yearning, its currents as wild and clear as something newly born. The air hums low, dense with the pulse of unrecorded ages, carrying the faint metallic scent of stone ground fine by ancient ice.
The trees here do not simply stand; they loom, their limbs draped in thick, knotted moss that sways like tattered banners in the dim light. They clutch at the soil with roots that claw deeper than sight, as though they too once sought shelter from something vast and nameless. Light, scarce and precious, threads its way through the canopy in fractured beams, catching the spray of the river and turning it to shards of fleeting brilliance, like the gleam of jewels scattered by careless hands.
This place feels suspended, as if caught in the in-breath of the world. It is not still—never still—but its motion is ancient, deliberate, woven into the rhythm of creation itself. One can almost feel the ground listening, the trees whispering secrets into the water. It is the kind of place that makes time itself falter, unsure whether to move forward or circle back into itself.
You could imagine, though only in half-believing, a figure stepping from the shadowed thicket—lithe and ageless, with the quiet weight of knowledge in their stride. Perhaps an elf, silent save for the faint rustle of leaf and cloak, their gaze older than this valley yet curiously unburdened. Or perhaps the faint laughter of smaller voices might echo here, unseen and mischievous, as if some hobbit children had wandered too far from their fires, discovering a world they could neither explain nor leave.
The valley resists being understood. It is not merely remote, but stubborn in its remoteness, reluctant to yield to maps or words. This is a place where no stories have yet been written, where the river moves like thought, swift and ungraspable, and the forest holds its counsel with jealous quiet. To stand here is to be unmoored, as though the valley’s very presence has severed the thread that tethers you to the world beyond, leaving only the sharp, resonant truth of now.