Random Pictures taken using your Phone..Let's see yours

The Lagoon and reservoir at my daughters' place in the Spanish Mountains...

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hollydolly said:
the 16 has a fabulous camera.. the 14 if you're upgrading to something cheaper eventually has a super camera too
Click to expand...
I read about iPhone cameras and how they have an image processing algorithm that messes with the color and saturation when you take a photo before it is made into a file. Actually all phones have this but Apples is the worst. Plus of course you cannot turn it off. I really see it with say a photo of a green lawn and green trees and green bushes that the green bleeds out into the rest of the image.

I have always used Affinity Photo to fix them but then I read that supposedly if you use the iPhone Live Photo setting then that processing is not applied. I haven't done A/B testing but I switched to all live photos recently and the colors are more real in certain situations. I don't find myself correcting them as much. I wonder if newer phones have gotten better at that.
 
In the bottom of an old canvas rucksack, tucked behind a rusted compass and a dog-eared field journal, Eliot found a square of paisley cloth, carefully wrapped around a Mercator K55K pocket knife. The cloth was soft and faded, deep blue with navy and white teardrop curls, its edges worn to threads. The knife, smooth, black and slim with the outline of a leaping cat clicked open with a satisfying snap. It had belonged to his uncle Leo, a man spoken of in half-whispers ... part adventurer, part ghost. The last letter Leo had sent, arrived over a decade ago, postmarked from somewhere in the Carpathians, and ended with the words: Follow the pattern.

That night, sitting by the fire in the overgrown garden of his uncle’s abandoned cabin, Eliot spread the paisley cloth across his lap, running his fingers along the curves of the design. A flicker of intuition pulled him to hold the knife against the cloth. There, barely visible unless viewed at the right angle, was a series of tiny notches along the swirls, like a code etched in disguise. With every shift of the fabric under the blade, the message revealed itself piece by piece. Coordinates. A date. A name he didn’t recognize. The paisley wasn’t just decoration ... it was a map. And the knife, faithful and sharp after all those years, had been waiting to point the way ...

This isn't that cloth or that knife ... just something I'm totin' for metal Monday and posted to my pocket knife forum ;)

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One evening, as (Naturally) Jim sifted through a box of old family memories, he found a black-and-white photo that immediately caught his attention. It was from a sunny spring day in the late 1950's, a warm afternoon on the lawn of his grandparent's home. Jim's grandparents sat happily, surrounded by a gaggle of their precious grandchildren. In the front of the picture, young Jim stood holding a ball, his smile relaxed and carefree.

Jim thought about the pocket knives he'd seen his grandfather use. Mostly they were old Case knives. To his grandfather, those edged instruments were tools, companions, and in some ways, a marker of the man himself. Whether Pop was peeling apples in the kitchen or carving walking sticks by the fire, his pocket knife was always there, a constant in a world that never seemed to stop changing. Pop never hurried when he worked. Whether it was fixing a fence, whittling a piece of wood, or cutting rope, he took his time. There was a calm certainty in every slice, a rhythm that spoke of a life well-lived and a deep connection to the world around him.

Although his grandfather had passed away too soon, Pop left a legacy of patience, craftsmanship, and the quiet power of a well-used pocket knife. And Jim had always wanted a pocket knife just like one his grandfather might have carried.

The photo brought all those thoughts as an unexpected rush of memories came flooding back. Jim could almost hear his grandfather’s voice, steady and deep, telling him stories about the land, about life’s simple pleasures, and about the importance of having a good knife by your side. As Jim held the photo in his hands, he felt a quiet bond to his younger self, the boy in the photo, so full of life and unaware of how quickly time would slip by.

It mattered not to Jim that his own pocket knife did not have the brown jigged bone covers of the ones his grandfather carried. What mattered was that it was a Case pocket knife in a pattern his beloved grandfather might have proudly used. Jim gently placed the photo next to his Case Medium Jack on the table, a symbol of family, of legacy, and of the memories that could never be forgotten.

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