I used to take a lot of cityscape photos then I got a taste of wide open nature, but here's a photo from my first year when I was a newbie. It was one of the few that held up that I don't cringe looking at it now 😆
Happy waterfall Wednesday...This is quite the majestic waterfall. On this day my faith in humanity was restored.
After i got this photo i was waiting for a tram to take us back to the car. As we're riding back, my gf asks me where my bag was. Turns out i left it at the stop my heart dropped since it had my cameras and drone in it.
I was sick waiting as we were driving back to the car, kicking myself for leaving it. After what seemed like eternity we got dropped off and jetted back to where i left my bag. As we dove up i could see that it wasn't there.
After looking in a few other spots where i thought i could've left it, i was about to give up when my gf told me to check with the snack bar. I walked in and they obviously could see it on my face and held up my bag and asked "looking for this?"
Sometimes you have to get into the water for the composition you want. My feet were numb by the time i actually got the photo i wanted and yes, another pair of shoes ruined.
The faded curtains dance in the winter wind, a ghostly waltz in a forgotten home. Snow, like a shroud, covers the worn floorboards, each flake a memory falling upon a time capsule of lives once lived. This abandoned house on Little Bay Islands, a silent witness to the ebb and flow of life, now stands sentinel as nature reclaims its own.
The scent of salt and sea still clings to the air, a phantom aroma of days when laughter and the clang of pots and pans filled these rooms. Children, their faces bright with joy, once chased each other through these hallways, their tiny hands leaving invisible imprints on the walls. A mother's loving gaze, a father's strong embrace - these, too, linger in the ether, intangible yet palpable.
Outside, the ocean whispers tales of fishermen setting the cod traps under skies ablaze with sunrise hues. The mournful cry of gulls echoes through the empty rooms, a poignant reminder of the vibrant community that once thrived here. Now, only the wind sighs through broken window panes, weaving stories of what was and what will never be again.
The encroachment of nature, a slow and gentle invasion, paints a poignant picture of time's passage. Mold creeps up the walls, their spores reaching like yearning fingers, seeking to reclaim the space that was once theirs. The garden, once filled with potatoes, now hosts a symphony of weeds, their resilience a testament to life's persistence.
Yet, amidst the decay and the silence, there's a strange beauty. A melancholic charm that speaks of lives intertwined with the rhythm of the sea, of a time when the island pulsed with the heartbeat of its people. The house, though empty, is not soulless. It holds the echoes of yesterday, the whispers of memory, and the enduring spirit of a place that will forever be etched in the hearts of those who called it home.
Even as nature reclaims its dominion, the ghosts of Little Bay Islands remain, their presence woven into the very fabric of this weathered dwelling, a testament to the enduring power of memory and the indelible mark humans leave upon the landscape.