Yes, this is real and not conjured up digitally. Taken on transparency film (slide film) on my old Contax, while visiting my father in Cornwall, UK, over 15 years ago. It is of the inside of a red begonia flower with lighting from behind. 100mm macro lens. 
(Inner scream!). Another holiday snap. I will use few words: no not a holiday snap, just my usual early morning jaunt during autumnal light and tides. Some would say to stop dawdling and go home, wash the dishes, clean up, comb your hair, and so on, as you can always come back another day.  However, every time I go down to this bay before dawn it seems like the world is showing another face, and seldom does it repeat itself. So, yes: that holiday snap can be a photojournalism in a way that offers a once-only chance that lasts maybe seconds. This is not a still life. Makes me think of Turner.
July, 2015, about 8:30 a.m., Yellow Point area. I first took a photo with an iPod, but it's auto everything setup tried to compensate for the orange caste to the sky (in the same way that taking a photo with your phone in strip-lit room at night comes out like daylight, rather than with a an artificial colour caste). I went home (down the road) and seeing my daughter with my old camera taking photos of the sky, offered her a trip - me driving, her taking photos - and set off. I did borrow back my old camera (a Lumix with a choice Leica lens) to take this photo, set to normal daylight (just as one would with old "daylight" celluloid film). 

It was an apocalyptic sky, the dry fields turned umber, the sky pallid, and the light levels so low the camera had to be braced to avoid blurring. I keep thinking of Pompeii before the pumice clouds fell: in this instance there was a light rain of ash adding to the surreal setting. What is the lesson here, other than perhaps some landscapes are timeless? Learn to turn off "Auto Everything" because the camera does not have a brain like you, whatever the promises made in the marketing spiel. 
In keeping with my website theme, this is truly about catching the moment where the horses are spaced suitably and the legs are well placed with a blur to indicate speed: I held the camera above my head and took a series of shots over the hedge, hoping for the best. It was such a cold bluish morning light, that I did later increase contrast and lighten the shadows to bring out the horses. The breed is "Canadian", and I had previously spotted them at dawn and so on my way home early one morning I diverted past them and struck lucky.
This is such a simple photo and it also fits my definition of spontaneous: an opportunistic one taken in passing but different to most in that I switched to manual focus. The otherwise ugly concrete blocks take on a role of drawing distinct lines that meet at the central subject of the composition: the photojournalist-style of point and shoot cannot always be left entirely to automation. This is very true of most long-telephoto shots or close-ups, as in this case.
All has been quite on this website while I have been making a move to the new place. Our obvious resident owl - a Barred Owl - likes to perch in the pastures near dusk, before heading back into the forest behind. Daytimes are full of a myriad of dragonflies,  and the nights largely free of light pollution, when during spring the chorus of Pacific Tree Frogs fills the night. My camera has been busy.
Not much of a picture, but it is cold, bleak, and full of raw power in my mind, taking me back : The night before had been spent nearby on an exposed headland sleeping in a small storm tent held down by piles of rocks, and with me fully clothed with boots on ready for the worst.  The breaking waves are as tall as ... well...  tall things taller than a small house.