Norway Nights by Derek Burdeny

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Norway Nights by Derek Burdeny

Awesome aurora displays in Northern Norway

Derek Burdeny: Photos

Norway Nights by Derek Burdeny Awesome aurora displays in Northern Norway Derek Burdeny: Photos

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a morning of madness spent in ...

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a morning of madness spent in the Southern Alps by Jason Charles Hill

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Jason Charles Hill: Photos

a morning of madness spent in the Southern Alps by Jason Charles Hill Processed with VSCO with a7 preset Jason Charles Hill: Photos

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Hidden Speul II by Lars van de...

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Hidden Speul II by Lars van de Goor | INSTAGRAM || WEBSITE || FACEBOOK | Lars van de Goor: Photos

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Bavaria by İlhan Eroglu

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Bavaria by İlhan Eroglu

my instagram : ilhan1077
www.facebook.com/ilhanerogluphotography

İlhan Eroglu: Photos

Bavaria by İlhan Eroglu my instagram : ilhan1077 www.facebook.com/ilhanerogluphotography İlhan Eroglu: Photos

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Driving home for Christmas. by...

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Driving home for Christmas. by Johannes Hulsch

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Johannes Hulsch: Photos

Driving home for Christmas. by Johannes Hulsch Processed with VSCO with a8 preset Johannes Hulsch: Photos

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Ridge Norwegian Stegosaurus)) ...

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Ridge Norwegian Stegosaurus)) by Andrej Bazanov

Join me
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Ridge Norwegian Stegosaurus))

Andrej Bazanov: Photos

Ridge Norwegian Stegosaurus)) by Andrej Bazanov Join me Instagram | Fb Ridge Norwegian Stegosaurus)) Andrej Bazanov: Photos

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The Sunlight At My Feet by The...

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The Sunlight At My Feet by The Narratographer

There is no better place in the world to watch the birth of a morning sun.
Glynn was my uncle. Well, he wasn’t actually my uncle, he was my mothers cousins husband (I have no idea what that made him to me). I think its second-cousin-once removed-in-law. Or something like that :). Either way, he was quite possibly the most gentle, most decent person I have ever had the opportunity to meet. He had lived in Corfe for the last thirty or so years, having moved down here from Huddersfield when he was in his early twenties. He met his soon to be wife, got married and never returned north. He never lost his accent, but he became a Dorset man, through and through. Up until about 18 months ago, I barely knew him, but spent the latter part of 2014 really getting to know him. He liked me and became a bit of a father figure. He showed huge interest in my photography, his favourite ever image being one I took of Corfe a few months before. He loved to see how it looked in the mist and sunrise from the top of the hill and he would offer me suggestions on where I should go to get the best views. This hill was his favourite place and although he had gotten older and could not longer bring his dogs up here for walks, he used to tell me how this hill gave the best views of the castle and village. He was one of the most popular people in the village and he would often frequent the local British Legion. He took me in there a few times, introducing me as his “nephew, the photographer”. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him. What’s more important, everyone who met him, liked him. They loved him, in fact. He was such a kind person and one of the funniest people I have ever met. He was a giant of a man, at least 6ft 4 but built like a coat hanger; wiry and slight. But his heart was as big as all of Dorset and he is missed sorely. He died suddenly last January. Ever since then, I haven’t been able to come back to this hill to take photos. That was until this morning. I am happy with this image, I wish I could have shown my “uncle.”
I arrived at Corfe Castle at just after 5.45am, when the sky was still dark and my path invisible. Slowly, I made my way upwards, letting my memory guide my burning feet and was accompanied by nothing but the eerie silence. A cockerel crowed in the distance, most likely annoyed that I was awake before him. He sounded flustered and irate; I am sure that howl was for me.
After what seemed like too long, I arrived at the top of the hill with aching legs and stretched lungs. There was a little more light at the top, thanks to the moon that still sat perched above the clouds and for once its beams were not broken by the trees. I could see the path I needed to follow, that snaked down and around the top of the hill, flanked on either side by furs and gorse. Eventually, I made my way into position.
The hill was deserted. The moon vanished behind the gathering clouds and once more I was plunged into darkness. The rustle of the bushes and trees began to echo in my ears. I heard something scamper into a nearby bush as I stood in position, waiting for the sun to rise. Slowly, the darkness lifted and I was faced with this…

The Narratographer: Photos

The Sunlight At My Feet by The Narratographer There is no better place in the world to watch the birth of a morning sun. Glynn was my uncle. Well, he wasn’t actually my uncle, he was my mothers cousins husband...

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Cloudy spot by Andre Villeneuv...

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Cloudy spot by Andre Villeneuve

Andre Villeneuve: Photos

Cloudy spot by Andre Villeneuve Andre Villeneuve: Photos

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nordegg road. white goat wilde...

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nordegg road. white goat wilderness. alberta. by Tanner Wendell Stewart

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Tanner Wendell Stewart: Photos

nordegg road. white goat wilderness. alberta. by Tanner Wendell Stewart Processed with VSCO with s2 preset Tanner Wendell Stewart: Photos

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Light Pours Down by Lizzy Gadd

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Light Pours Down by Lizzy Gadd

This entire cave was like standing in a freezing cold shower… worth it? Oh yes. <3

Lizzy Gadd: Photos

Light Pours Down by Lizzy Gadd This entire cave was like standing in a freezing cold shower… worth it? Oh yes. <3 Lizzy Gadd: Photos

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Everyday life in Tokyo by Taka...

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Everyday life in Tokyo by Takashi Yasui

©Takashi Yasui
Portfolio | Instagram | Facebook | RECO

Takashi Yasui: Photos

Everyday life in Tokyo by Takashi Yasui ©Takashi Yasui Portfolio | Instagram | Facebook | RECO Takashi Yasui: Photos

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Vestrahorn by Angela Chong

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Vestrahorn by Angela Chong

Angela Chong: Photos

Vestrahorn by Angela Chong Angela Chong: Photos

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