View allAll Photos Tagged old
Location: USA - Florida - Orlando
Camera: Canon EOS 450D
Shutter Speed: 0.002 sec (1/500)
Aperture: f/5.6
Focal Length: 400 mm
ISO Speed: 400
Lens: EF400mm f/5.6L USM
were bought at insulator shows at the end of the day. They were common in old switchboards & power stations around the turn of the century.
Ruined greenhouse at Easton
The Old Greenhouse.
Drip! The droplet slowly builds, becoming pear-shaped,
hanging as from a thread at the grey spout of the grimy tap.
Drip! Into a damp patch in the dry infertile earth
irrigating a few strands of ivy hugging the crumbling bricks:
compelling regularity, a water-clock of abandonment.
How long since old gnarled hands,
nails impregnated with potting compost and plant juices,
held galvanised cans beneath its gush,
cleaned windows, watered seedlings or vines,
sluiced down the mossy path, obscured now
by debris and trailing brambles?
Drip! Measuring the minutes since Victoria reigned over us,
when aristocratic houses gave employment to a hierarchy of local lads
under the green thumb of the Head Gardener;
when peaches, apricots and grapes were produced for gracious tables
and camellias and bougainvillias led pampered lives
within the shelter of the broken walls.
Now only the snowdrop candles light the gloomy depths,
glisten amongst the sprouting nettles
beneath last year's ochre stalks, uncut, untrodden,
and brittle bones of willowherb
await the surge of rusty growth.
Drip! Onto the parched soil and terracotta shards,
onto dead leaves, a rotting handle from a trowel
and an illegible label.
Some of the glass is whole, or almost so,
stacked in irregular piles, bright, in places,
the scored edges showing inky blue and bottle green,
the mirror sheets distorting the reflections
of the empty ceiling of iron framework.
Elsewhere, the gleam is hidden under moss and lichen,
speckled with lime-saturated water, scattered with bird-shit:
robin, summer swallows and sparrows seeking dry-earth
for feather maintenance.
Drip! Drip! Drip!
Counting the days until money is found for restoration,
waiting for a time when seedlings once more will be pricked
into sweet loam and leaf-mould,
filling the old greenhouse with new life and new scents,
and the constant dripping of the tap will be stilled.
Our train from Budapest dropped us off in Zagreb, capital of Croatia and the only city starting with the letter “Z” that we are aware of. We headed down the coast gobbling down shots of rakia, with a stop on the Plivitce National Park. Along the coast, we visited a few towns, namely: Dubrovnik, Brela, Split and the Island of Vis. A quick bus trip across the border took us to Bosnia & Herzegovina for a quick visit to Mostar, a town still covered in bullet holes due to the war that ended splitting up Yugoslavia during the 90s. After saying goodbye to my mom, we crossed to Montenegro, a weird country. We went river rafting, crossed ilegally to the Bosnian side for a second, got stuck for one night and then moved on.
This is an old car that was almost at the top of Mt. Grant. We got to go to the top of this mountain on a special challenge for 9/11. prior to this the mountain has been closed for the past 10 years.
The Old Mill in Pigeon Forge, Tn is one of the best places to make photos at night and they have great food.
Old Agfa C90 - I remember buying the odd C 120 until I realised the tapes on these were so thin they regularly snapped in the tape player - then extrication was required to restore normal service !
I've got boots and a bike like this. Not the hat though.
He is wearing a 'Norfolk' jacket but I know he lived in Sutton, Surrey.
Enlarge to see lady in background