View allAll Photos Tagged BENIGN
Porto.
____________________
*
Pela verdade, pelo riso, pela luz, pela beleza,
Pelas aves que voam no olhar de uma criança,
Pela limpeza do vento, pelos actos de pureza,
Pela alegria, pelo vinho, pela música, pela dança,
Pela branda melodia do rumor dos regatos,
Pelo fulgor do estio, pelo azul do claro dia,
Pelas flores que esmaltam os campos, pelo sossego dos pastos,
Pela exactidão das ruas, pela Sabedoria,
Pelas pérolas que gotejam dos olhos dos amantes,
Pelos pródigos que são verdadeiros nos sonhos,
Pelo amor, pela liberdade, pelas coisas radiantes,
Pelos aromas maduros de suaves outonos,
Pela futura manhã dos grandes transparentes,
Pelas entranhas maternas e fecundas da terra,
Pelas lágrimas das mães a quem nuvens sangrentas
Arrebatam os filhos para a torpeza da guerra,
Eu te conjuro, ó paz, eu te invoco, ó benigna,
Ó santa, ó talismã contra a indústria feroz,
Com tuas mãos que abatem as bandeiras da ira,
Com o teu esconjuro da bomba e do algoz,
Abre as portas da História,
deixa passar a Vida!
Natália Correia
It was fair to say we’d slightly overdone it on the lunch order at Trevaskis Farm earlier in the day. Bolstered with a gift card from my daughter that needed to be used on a sunny afternoon outside the school holidays and definitely not at the weekends, we’d headed for the coast in the van, via a lunchtime stopping off point. We don’t do crowds and we don’t do the indoor restaurant area here – it’s a bit like an airport departure lounge inside, but the sunny patio area is a different matter entirely. And if we do have to suffer the company of others, we prefer to be surrounded by a relatively benign gathering of people who make us feel as if we’re still callow striplings of youth.
“Ooh what a lovely car! If you kick the bucket I’ll have your car please!” This from one lady of certain years to another, whom I hope was a very good friend with a well developed sense of humour. These are the sort of people we’re happy to be within earshot of. Gently entertaining and not remotely boisterous. Meanwhile, we considered our deli wraps with salad and gazed at each other over the "sharer," a mountainous bowl of loaded fries covered in all sorts of decorative foodstuffs. What a brilliant invention they are. The loaded fries – in fact I’m going to refer to them as chips because that’s what they’re called here, despite the catering industry trying to change the language – were particularly delightful, although even I had to eventually concede defeat, for fear that I might do a Mr Creosote and explode extravagantly across the patio. It would have been a shame to spoil everyone else’s lunch, and whether that septuagenarian wit would have been frisking my remains in search of the keys to a large red van, I can’t really say. At the point that I could eat no more, we asked for a box, which I filled with pulled pork and chips before waddling across the car park and placing it triumphantly in Brenda’s fridge.
From here, it was a short run down towards Godrevy, where a second field had been opened since last week’s visit, creating space for us to pull out the chairs and sprawl ourselves lazily next to the van. Ali promptly lost herself in a campervan based cookbook, although it seemed that some of the recipes were prepared at home and plonked into Tupperware containers for the journey. No I don’t get it either. I just continued to sprawl, nursing my overfed stomach, and gazing at the ocean. After a couple of hours of general inertness, we finally struggled down to the beach to watch a grey seal from the rocks, before labouring up the cliff path to see the rest of its kin on the stony shore of the secluded Mutton Cove. As we did so, we passed a couple of photographers entrenched among the thrift. One of them looked familiar, I thought.
By the time we returned to the van, it was only an hour before sunset, so I headed down to the cliff edge to claim my pitch. And then I recognised the face I’d seen a while earlier. Lucie used to frequent these pages, but sadly she’s gone onto other platforms and abandoned us here. I hadn’t seen her for a number of years – in fact the last time I did, she was about two hundred yards away on the big beach to the west of us one December afternoon, making a subject for my own image as she pointed her camera out to sea. From that distance, neither of us recognised the other.
They’re not really my thing because I like my own space, but I did once go to a meeting of the camera club that Lee used to be involved in, because Lucie had been invited to make a presentation and I thought a friendly face in the audience might help. Ironic now then that I’d temporarily found myself joining the ranks of her own club for the evening. Little did I know that another of our friends, Su Bayfield, was down below us on the rocks, pointing her camera in the same direction. I was told that twenty odd members of the Penwith Photography Group were lurking in various hidey holes all over the headland and the rocks.
So despite being a miserable old so and so who goes out of his way to keep out of the way, it was rather lovely to spend an hour catching up and sharing stories with Lucie, a very talented photographer whose absence from Flickr nowadays is a bit of a tragedy really. Her distinctive style is always recognisable, and she’s done rather well out of it too. If you’re on some of the other platforms we don’t talk about here, do have a look for Lucie Averill if you don’t already know her.
Meanwhile, the thrift was looking rather lovely on this glowing evening as the sun dropped closer to the horizon, and while we continued to chat, we kept our eyes on our viewfinders. I’d deliberately chosen the wide angle lens, positioning myself as close to the seasonal blooms (and the edge) as I dared to, and attempted to focus stack and bracket at the same time. It’s always a messy job when intricate foregrounds overlap distant backgrounds, and I knew that blending five raw files was going to be a fiddly affair – not least because my computer groans at me almost audibly whenever I instruct Lightroom to load files into a stack in Photoshop. In fact, as I’m writing this story before I post the image, I can already see it’s going to need another bit of fiddling with the focus stacking first. Just try to enjoy the mood I’m attempting to convey and don’t inspect the join too closely if you don’t mind awfully thanks.
By late the following morning, hunger finally returned. And I found a lone tortilla in the fridge to wrap the leftovers in. There was enough in the doggie box for another very pleasurable lunch. They always seem to taste even better when you’ve salvaged them from the prospect of the waste bin don’t they?
The Ministry of Peace, paradoxically responsible for war, illustrates 1984's theme of deceptive government control.
Despite its benign name, the Ministry focuses on developing methods and weapons for ongoing war, reflecting the Party's manipulation of truth.
Its role in disseminating war news underscores the Party's strategy of using perpetual conflict to unify and control Oceania's populace.
From George Orwell’s 1984
youtu.be/uiix4z3rkM0si=Z7WU8LoNmgCJHzMa
The Mexico City chronicles, December/2024
"Dave" by Coady (Vic)
Sculpture By the Sea, Bondi to Tamarama Beaches Walk
2023
Smile on Saturday: Part of Artpiece (glad I "saved" this one)
"Dave is a reference to Michelangelo’s luminous marble carving of David, the epitome of male perfection for centuries.
By projecting this thinking into the contemporary realm, the new version of David (or ‘Dave’ as he is known to friends) cuts a benign figure in the midst of social change. Originally fabricated in enamel coated polyurethane and installed along the coast of Bondi (Sculpture By The Sea 2016), Dave, assisted by 3D modelling from a maquette, now has versions in Bronze and anodized aluminium. With gender rules and traditional male stereotypes fading Coady describes Dave’s characteristics as more baby boomer than millennial, a journey in time that has redefined notions of masculinity."
facciamo brindisi.
Ho qui una canzonetta
di fresco data fuori
vivace, graziosa
che gusto vi può dar
Gaetano Donizetti, L' Elisir d'amore. Scena prima
Mentre in Turchia e Siria si sta lottando per la vita, qui uno spettacolo di canzoni insulse e noiose. Forse quest'anno si sarebbe potuto sospendere in segno di solidarietà e inviare i soldi a quelle popolazioni.
Invece per la prima volta partecipa anche il Presidente della Repubblica.
Intanto il numero dei morti sta crescendo inesorabilmente, quasi 8000, la gente è stremata dalle condizioni metereologiche proibitive, da ondate di nuove forti scosse, i soccorsi stentano ad arrivare per le strade impraticabili, mancano luce e gas e le eventuali proteste per i ritardi dei soccorsi sono represse duramente dal Regime.
In Siria la situazione è ancora più tragica, disperata : i soccorsi qui non arrivano, si scava con le mani tra la neve.
Con milioni di persone ammassate alle frontière, abbandonate, dopo 12 anni di guerra e di dure sanzioni da parte di Stati Uniti e UE, qui arriva solo qualche aiuto da parte di Russia e Iraq.
Intanto cantiam, che ci dobbiamo rallegrare
Non ho sentito il discorso di Benigni, che a me piace molto. L'ho letto : istituzionale, diverso dal solito. Meno male che ha detto che l'Italia è contro la guerra.
Bello il minuto di silenzio per la Turchia. Ma la Siria....?
The number of victims of the earthquake rises in Turkey and Syria...
In memorium. A lot of lives have been lost to this patch of sea over the years. It looks benign, but do not be fooled.
Barmouth Wales 19th July 2016
Yes, it's been really smokey and the air is bad, and yes, we haven't been able to go out much, however....if one stops to look, Mother Nature is always showing us a bit of color, a stray bit of beauty that says "hang on, have hope, it will be ok" At least so it was with me when I saw this lovely bloom peeping up through the dirt pile of stopped yard projects and lit up my day!
“I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.”
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
Forest Home Cemetery Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Thank-you to all who take the time to comment on my photos, it is greatly appreciated <3
These Wild Carrot Wasps are amazing in many ways. For one their form with that slim-waist is achieved without dieting. Then that ovipositor strikes fear into any insect larva that assumes it's safely hidden in a hollow plant stem. Wasp 'divines' they're where they are and then needles through the stem wall to stick it to them and to deposit eggs which, when hatched, will eat those larvae inside out. Charles Darwin remarked that this cruelty divested him of belief in a benign god.
The photo shows a female of the species on the left; take note of its ovipositor. The inset has a male, of course without an ovipositor. Both were seen on Limnanthes douglasii (www.flickr.com/photos/87453322@N00/7347522440/in/photolis...).
Regionale 22971 Fossano-Limone Piemonte passa tra i papaveri vicino a Roata Chiusani
Regional train 22971 Fossano-Limone Piemonte passing some poppy fields near Roata Chiusani
"Spread your wings and let the fairy in you fly."
On a recent visit I was fascinated by these fairy sculptures at Trentham Gardens by local artist Robin Wight. This one is in a group of dandelion clocks which were made by the artist's daughter, and all are so intricate in their design. The characters are not benign but rather impish rascals.
116 in 2016 # 36 Intricate
Thanks to one of my contacts, Jeannie Debs, for telling me about these at Trentham - when I last went there age 5 it was a very different place!
An unexpected event in the Garden of Benign Neglect. A cactus in a planter box which I had moved while doing some digging suddenly decided to flower and Bloom! I am completely enthralled with it! Even though it is is a much less sunny area. (which describes a lot of our foggy little patch)
La flèche, refaite au XIXe, culmine à 93 mètres. Depuis le faîte du toit, elle fait 55 mètres. Les statues à la base de la flèche datent également du XIXe siècle.
Une première basilique, dédiée à saint Bénigne (martyrisé vers la fin du IIe siècle), est construite au VIe siècle sous l'autorité de saint Grégoire. Délabrée et insuffisante pour l'afflux des pélerins venus se recueillir sur la tombe du martyr, l'évêque Isaac fit bâtir une basilique carolingienne plus vaste (vers 870), tout en imposant aux moines de l'abbaye la règle austère de saint Benoît.
Au début du XIe siècle, l'italien Guillaume de Volpiano est nommé abbé de Saint-Bénigne. Il s'engage dans la construction d'une troisième basilique dite «lombarde» (car inspirée des églises de Lombardie).
Après l'incendie de 1137 qui détruisit presque toute la ville, le nouvel abbé, Pierre de Genêve, fait rebâtir la partie de la basilique qui a le plus souffert en église romane. Église que le destin frappa en 1271 quand une tour s'écroula sur elle. On réussit en quelques années à recueillir les fonds nécessaires à l'édification d'une basilique gothique. Le chœur fut construit entre 1280 et 1287, le reste achevé en un demi-siècle. Mais l'état du bâtiment se dégrade dangereusement par manque d'entretien. Coup supplémentaire : les pillages de la Révolution la vident complètement (hormis l'orgue du XVIIIe). En 1819, une commission en recommande même la destruction. Malgré tout, des travaux de restauration s'engagent en 1830. Suivis d'une nouvelle campagne en 1884 sous la responsabilité de Charles Suisse. Depuis 2003, avec la création d'un nouvel archevêché (région de Bourgogne), Saint-Bénigne est devenue cathédrale métropolitaine.
www.patrimoine-histoire.fr/Patrimoine/Dijon/Dijon-Saint-B...
_______________________________________
The spire, rebuilt in the nineteenth, rises to 93 meters. Since the peak of the roof, it is 55 meters high. The statues at the base of the spire also date from the nineteenth century.
A first basilica dedicated to St. Bénigne (martyred in the late second century), was built in the sixth century under the authority of St. Gregory. Dilapidated and inadequate for the influx of pilgrims who came to visit the grave of the martyr, the bishop Isaac built a wider Carolingian basilica (around 870), while imposing the monks of the abbey austere rule of St. Benedict.
In the early eleventh century, Italian Guillaume Volpiano was appointed abbot of St. Bénigne. It engages in the construction of a third basilica called "Lombard" (as inspired churches of Lombardy).
After the 1137 fire that destroyed almost the whole city, the new abbot, Pierre de Genêve, is rebuilding part of the basilica that suffered most in a Romanesque church. Church that fate struck in 1271 when a tower fell on it. They succeeded in a few years to raise the funds necessary for the building of a Gothic basilica. The choir was built between 1280 and 1287, the rest ended in half a century. But the building is deteriorating dangerously because of lack of maintenance. Further blow: Revolution looting empty it completely (except the organ eighteenth). In 1819, a commission recommends even destruction. Nevertheless, the restoration work in 1830. Subscriptions undertake a new campaign in 1884 under the supervision of Charles Switzerland. Since 2003, with the creation of a new archbishopric (Burgundy region) Saint-Bénigne became Metropolitan Cathedral.
Translated from:
www.patrimoine-histoire.fr/Patrimoine/Dijon/Dijon-Saint-B...
La première chose qui frappe le visiteur qui rentre dans la cathédrale Saint-Bénigne est la différence de couleur entre la nef et le chœur. Les sources indiquent que, au Moyen Âge, la pierre du chœur était ocre. Aussi, lors de la dernière restauration (1988-1995), a-t-on essayé de reconstituer cette couleur.
Le chœur se caractérise par de grandes colonnes qui montent sans interruption jusqu'à la voûte, assurant un effet d'élancement vers le ciel assez réussi. Le chœur, comme la nef, possède trois niveaux d'élévation : fenêtres basses, triforium et fenêtres hautes. Le triforium est partout encadré, en haut et en bas, par un bandeau mince en forte saillie qui coupe l'élancement des élévations. Les colonnes du sanctuaire - d'une seul tenant - et leur effet ascensionnel n'en ressortent que plus fortement.
On observe dans le chœur un large parement entre le triforium et les fenêtres hautes : c'est une particularité de Saint-Bénigne.
La cathédrale Saint-Bénigne est inondée de lumière car la verrière des fenêtres hautes est en verre blanc.
www.patrimoine-histoire.fr/Patrimoine/Dijon/Dijon-Saint-B...
____________________________________
The first thing that strikes the visitor who enters the St. Bénigne Cathedral is the color difference between the nave and chancel. Sources say, the Middle Ages, the stone of the choir was ocher. Also, during the last restoration (1988-1995), did it tried to restore that color.
The choir is characterized by large columns that rise up to the vault without interruption, ensuring effective slenderness to the fairly successful sky. The chorus, like the nave elevation has three levels: low windows, triforium and high windows. The clerestory is everywhere framed top and bottom by a thin headband strong projection that cuts slenderness elevations. The columns of the sanctuary - a single holding - and lift effect does emerge that more strongly.
In the choir there is a wide siding between the triforium and high windows is a feature of Saint-Bénigne.
St. Bénigne Cathedral is flooded with light because the glass roof of the high windows is white glass.
Translated from:
www.patrimoine-histoire.fr/Patrimoine/Dijon/Dijon-Saint-B...
(Exaerete frontalis)
'The OCB is one of the most spectacular of all bees in terms of size, color and microsculpture. We usually think of bees as benign, helpful creatures. Exaereteis a cuckoo bee. Instead of collecting pollen and constructing their own nests, female cuckoo bees enter the nests of other bees and lay their eggs in the host brood cells. This particular specimen has grown to a large size by consuming the pollen diligently collected by its host. '
'Microsulpture'
Levon Biss is a a British photographer. His photographic process composites thousands of images, using multiple lights, setups, to create a final portrait which reveals Microsculpture.
Weather
Rain
Water is the Essence of Life. No living thing can survive very long without it. It is incredibly old. We have the same rain as the ancients did and before their existence. It signifies the power to purify, to give deliverance, and it can also destroy evil and enemies in flood as in the Biblical stories. It is awesome as it is kind. It is benign, it is malignant, for we live or die without it. What a miraculous thing it is, it can engulf you but you cannot hold it in the palm of your hand. It can scold you, it can freeze you, it can inspire and frighten in the very next breath. I will always respect it in its many forms.
These are just a few images of rain observed ……….
Acid Rain
Fell Again
And settled in my Pants
it swelled my nads
but I'm so glad
I Pee and Kill Red Ants
written by me in 1967
What a poet.....
There ought to be a Laureate against it.
The confluence of Schulz Canal (commences as Kedron Brook) and Moreton Bay at Nudgee Beach lookedcalm and entirely benign when I took this shot sometime ago. There is a small jetty which is adjacent to a dog park and if you walk out along the canal on the left hand side, the beach is an off leash dog walking area. The opposite side of the canal included the old suburb of Cribb Island and Jackson's Estate, subsumed during a major Brisbane airport upgrade some 40 years ago. That area is now well out of bounds and given that the recently opened second main runway is closer this way, all the more an area not to venture into. If you zoom in a bit, you will see a bulk tanker on its way into the Brisbane River and Port of Brisbane which sits out off the end of the airport.
Since the shot was taken, the disastrous February floods have been and gone. The canal, which for most of its length is known as Kedron Brook and wends its way serenely through the suburbs and parkland carried what was probably a record amount of water out into the Bay. In fact, where it passed the big shopping mall at Toombul which usually loses its car park in significant floods, it completely inundated the shopping centre for the first time since it opened in 1967 to the extent that it is now closed and being restored, not expecting to reopen until very late in the year.
Les fonts baptismaux
Ils s'inscrivent dans le réaménagement de l'église au XIXe siècle.
La cuve est due au ciseau de Xavier Schanosky (1867-1915).
L'ange suspendu des fonts baptismaux (XIXe siècle)
Il a été fondu d'après un modèle de Paul Gasq (1860-1944).
www.patrimoine-histoire.fr/Patrimoine/Dijon/Dijon-Saint-B...
_______________________________________
Baptismal font
They are part of the redevelopment of the church in the nineteenth century.
The vessel is due to chisel Schanosky Xavier (1867-1915).
The angel suspended baptismal font (nineteenth century)
It was cast from a model of Paul Gasq (1860-1944).
Translated from:
www.patrimoine-histoire.fr/Patrimoine/Dijon/Dijon-Saint-B...
- Dimenticavo di dirle.
- Dica.
- Che ho una voglia di fare all'amore con lei che non si può immaginare. Ma questo non lo dico mai a nessuno, soprattutto a lei, mi dovrebbero torturare per farmelo dire.
- Dire cosa?
- Che ho voglia di fare l'amore con lei, ma non una volta sola, tante volte; ma a lei non lo dirò mai, solo se diventassi scemo le direi che farei l'amore anche ora, qui davanti a casa per tutta la vita.
Guido Orefice (Roberto Benigni), Dora (Nicoletta Braschi)
"La vita è bella" di Roberto Benigni
BNSF 9106 is on the rear of a northbound coal empty as it slowly pushes its way into Castle Rock, CO.
The snow is the leftovers from a huge blizzard that hit the area a few days prior. The storm had the lowest pressure ever recorded in Colorado and brought winds upwards of 97mph to the Colorado Springs Airport. While the snowfall wasn't mind-blowing, the storm knocked out power, downed trees and fences, and left 1,100 people stranded on the roads. Things on this day though were much more benign.
Photographic integrity: I turned the ditch lights on in post-processing.
A pesar de ser casi mediados de noviembre, los odonatos y demás insectos siguen activos, es el clima benigno de la costa tropical granadina, con muy poca oscilación térmica entre el día y la noche, siendo los días bastante cálidos hasta casi entrar el invierno.
Aquí tenemos un macho de lestes viridis, con los colores desgastados por una larga vida, seguro que a finales de primavera lucía ese verde esmeralda que los caracteriza.
Il nuovo ETR104 064 ''Pop'' transita nei campi tra San Benigno e Bosconero in direzione Rivarolo dove terminerà la corsa.
Successivamente ripartirà per Chieri ripercorrendo l'intera Canavesana e la Trofarello-Chieri.
. . . taken from just below Ben Donich's summit ridge.
From afar, Donich appears fairly benign. A uniformly grassy pyramid that sits rather shyly amongst more illustrious neighbours. No hint is given to those below of the rocky chaos that lurks in various corners. House-sized boulders & yawning rock crevasses are a fairly startling revelation having plodded up some featureless slopes!
For once I was a tad disappointed a fellow early-riser didn't appear in the scene as I took my photographs. Lending some scale to the foreground jumble of rock would have been handy. (They're massive, by the way!)
Quando os nossos dias se tornarem obscurecidos por nuvens negras e baixas, quando as nossas noites forem mais negras do que mil noites. Lembremo-nos, que no universo a um grande e benigno poder , que e capaz de abrir caminho onde não há caminho, e de transformar o ontem sombrio num luminoso amanhã.
(Martin Luther King)
"Spread your wings and let the fairy in you fly."
On a recent visit I was fascinated by these fairy sculptures at Trentham Gardens by local artist Robin Wight. This one is in a group of dandelion clocks which were made by the artist's daughter, and all are so intricate in their design. The characters are not benign but rather impish rascals.
See another image in first comment box showing the statue's position in the Italian Garden, and showing better the fairy's struggle with the dandelion clock, such a wonderful action capture, and so much to adore about this statue.
116 in 2016 # 24 Statue and 52 in 2016 # 52 Statue
Thanks to one of my contacts, Jeannie Debs, for telling me about these at Trentham - when I last went there age 5 it was a very different place!
Sculptures depicting Commerce, Justice and Britannia, look down benignly from the apex of the Merchant Hotel’s magnificent façade on Belfast’s Waring Street. Originally the headquarters of the Ulster Bank for a century and a half, since 2010 this building has been has been a luxury hotel.
Bank Directors Robert Grimshaw and James Heron visited Glasgow and Edinburgh in 1857 to glean as much information as possible on the best banking buildings. It was their earnest wish that the building should appear elegant, substantial and prosperous. The location was deemed eminently suitable being, as it was then, in the heart of Belfast’s mercantile and commercial centre.
The Glaswegian architect James Hamilton designed an imposing building in High Victorian Italianate style executed in Giffnock sandstone.
The Merchant Hotel is located in the Cathedral Quarter nightlife district.
This description incorporates text taken from the Merchant Hotel’s website.
I want to thank the NHS & all the beautiful hardworking Nurses, Doctors & staff that tirelessly work away without alot of credit who nursed me back to health after being taken into hospital last week for 6 days.
I have a Meningioma a benign... Thank goodness! swelling on the front part of my brain, luckily there is not alot of clever matter in there to make any worse 😄
I am taking medication to hopefully reduce the swelling & My MRI scan got sent off to Kings hospital which they looked at on Friday & I await their assessment.
I don't feel any different really, I've been told I can't drive & just feel a bit more tired & hungry! So pleased to be home with my loving partner Elsa & enjoying the beautiful weather in London at the moment.
Have a wonderful summer all of you :0))
My yard has seen a strong uptake in the number of Scrub Jays lately. Not sure why but I'm certainly enjoying it. Nice when the birds come to you!
La rotonde communique par deux colonnes avec la partie occidentale de la crypte, le martyrium, où se trouve le tombeau St-Bénigne. Six colonnes en demi-cercle y marquent une sorte de petit déambulatoire voûté d’arêtes. Au centre se trouve le tombeau de St-Bénigne, reconstitué vers 1870, sous une voûte en berceau supporté par quatre colonnettes. On y trouve la base du sarcophage de Bénigne, dont le fond de la cuve serait encore d’origine antique. Le ciborium argenté avec peintures qui décorait cet espace a disparu. Le sol au pavement de marbres colorés en opus sectile date du 19e siècle mais des fragments du sol pavé d’origine ont été retrouvés. Les parties occidentales de la crypte appartiennent au transept inférieur.
Curiously looped on the main-line, so requiring a succession of Trans Pennine passenger services to pass on the slower loop line, Freightliner Shed 66604 finally makes its getaway from Marsden some 10 minutes behind schedule with the 11.41am Hunslet Tilcon - Tunstead Sidings (6M22).
It's captured here crossing the Huddersfield Narrow Canal before it plunges into the 4803m long Standedge Tunnel which sees the train enter in Yorkshire and exit in Lancashire, or more latterly, Greater Manchester.
Not to be outdone the canal also passes under the hillside in a tunnel constructed some years earlier (1811) and, at a length of 5189m, was the longest and most expensive canal tunnel ever constructed in the UK. For a small price would be adventurers can take a ride on a narrow boat through the tunnel from the Visitor Centre just below - and enjoy it in all its darkness and claustrophobic glory while being silently thankful that working conditions these days are rather more benign!
2.59pm, 25th February 2019
«In mare irato, in sùbita procella, invoco Te, nostra benigna Stella»
Questa è la statua del marinaio che accoglie le imbarcazioni all'ingresso del porto di Savona.
Opera realizzata dalla famosissima scultrice Renata Cuneo.
Qui sotto nei commenti il contesto
(i versi sono di Gabriello Chiabrera, poeta e drammaturgo savonese del '600)
Do not use any of my images on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit written permission.
All rights reserved - Copyright © fotomie2009 - Nora Caracci
One of the three hummers that frequent our yard and feeder. Anna's Hummingbird. North Morro Bay, Ca.
“When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.” – William Wordsworth
(Clearly he's never been quarantined 😉)
Happy Bench Monday!
Last month, one of my friends on SL, Nardis, passed away. He was an engineer and musician, ingenious and poetic.
He shared poems, music, paintings. We also had lively discussions about politics. He would tell me about the place where he lived, a little about his family whom he loved deeply. He was grumpy and always kind, he reminded me of one of my grandfathers. He would tell me about his experience as a musician. We shared the same passion for music. In my studio, there is a dance hall, where I put on immersive shows of video and modern and contemporary music. He loved it, he even danced next to me during rehearsals. It was fun and I was happy to give him that experience.
He helped the artists. He had a good understanding of the technique and did interesting research on the 3D rendering of the paintings. He also worked with artists to set up exhibitions.
Then he started talking about his pain. It seemed to be benign, then worrying, then it seemed like something else. All he could talk about was how he was having trouble walking, then getting out of bed, the disease was occupying all the space in his apartment. It lasted for weeks. Then, at the end of March, he told me that he was finally going to the hospital and that he would be away for a short time. The wait was way too long for a little pain.
There are many people in Second Life who disappear overnight without giving any news. Often, it's because the experience is over. You get bored and leave, like you leave a habit, a brand or a social network. And no one cares, that's normal. But Nardis was different: he would never have left like that, he was too well educated. He said hello every time I appeared, he said goodbye when he left. He always had a kind word. I learned of his death a few days ago.
I have created a small memorial in his honor, next to my church. It contains a small exhibit that I called Forgotten / Not forgotten . All the images inside the building are free. Take them, spread them, so that his memory remains alive.
___
Milena Carbone's art studio
Novels - art photography - dance performance
Visiting the Warriors site in Xi'an China, we were funnelled through the inevitable hot house of intense and unsubtle selling opportunities. Souvenir books were stacked high on tables where aged gentlemen sat greeting potential buyers. Each man, the signs claimed, was the original discoverer of the entombed warriors.
After seeing several of these men I knew it was all a giant hoax. When I lifted my camera for a photo the woman with the death stare ordered me not to take a photo. But oops, too late, the shot was taken and the benign face of Chinese capitalism was in the bag.
I know, I know, I'm going to Hell in a hand basket, but it was always on the cards anyhow.
The irony wasn't lost on us. Twelve days in Scotland, every one of them bearing quantities of rain that ranged from light drizzle through urgent showers to South Asian monsoon were at an end as we headed towards Gretna and the border. On the way up, conditions had been hot and humid, at least until we reached Cumbria, where everything changed quite dramatically. Now, with the north of England just a few miles away, the rear view mirror showed Scotland, bathed under dreamy cerulean skies balanced on top of pure white mountains of benign looking cauliflower cumulus. Our last stop at a motorway service station just south of Glasgow had been a warm one as we sat at a picnic bench with our sandwiches.
Into Cumbria our journey continued, the rains advancing to meet us from the south. Apparently at home in Cornwall, an urgent deluge was keeping everyone indoors. Hopefully by the time we were back, things might have eased a bit. We considered spending a night or two near Keswick and walking up Helvellyn, but perhaps it was best to leave that for another time. While we’d loved our adventures in Scotland, we were both craving warm sunshine by now. We carried on south, making good progress into kinder weather and soon agreeing that the overnight pub stop near Skipton that was in our sights could be abandoned in pursuit of further miles in the general direction of home. But where? Would we book a site, or could we find a nice quiet layby for the night? But as we pondered the options, the solution came. We’d stopped at the Roaches on the way north, and it was near enough to the M6 corridor to be worth returning to now. Campsites are great and mostly reasonably priced, but there’s nothing quite like waking up to the sound of birdsong in a peaceful spot away from the world.
The detour to Staffordshire started well, with an easy motorway route across the Manchester sprawl, bringing us towards Macclesfield. But then Bossy Barbara (remember her?) decided to make things interesting, and instead of taking the easy route through Leek towards our target, we were led a merry dance along tiny narrow lanes, past lonely farms that stretched away across the fells. Each new turn led to an even more improbable road than the last, as I wondered why on earth I hadn’t just asked Ali - “How far is it along here, compared to heading for Leek or Buxton?” You see I knew it was my fault all along, but having been to the area just a few weeks earlier, I was sure I could have found the place from either town without consulting the map. Eventually, as we climbed a thin ribbon into not yet blooming heather, I realised what would come next. And soon we saw Roach End Barn, sitting under its companion trees, a lone tog making the most of having the place to himself. I’d only been there myself about six weeks earlier. We’d come to the Roaches from the opposite end of the road.
Parking in the same space as last time, with supper on the go, I gazed out of the window towards the Sutton Moor mast that sits between here and Macclesfield. A heavy looking layer of cloud filled much of the sky, leaving a warm envelope of light on the horizon. Sunset was still almost an hour away, and I thought nothing much more of it. At least the rains had dried up again by now. But later, with my back to the sunset as I began to wash the dishes, the trees and hedges around us began to burn and glow with strong golden light. “Get out there and take some pictures,” came Ali’s instruction, and so I went, snapping away with the camera in my hands - eventually returning to the van for the tripod. If you’re going to do something, at least give yourself a sporting chance. Belt and braces.
By the end of the show, the sky, lighting up the clouds had moved from golden to bubblegum pink, and then to a deepening blue. The only focal point was that mast, but it was good enough for me. Ali came outside to watch the colours change. It seemed she’d finished the washing up while I was absent. Amazing what a bubblegum sunset sky can get you out of sometimes.
It’s been a long time since the three of us have gathered. We used to do this at regular intervals, mostly on summer evenings at the coast, but also on the odd Saturday or Sunday during the darker seasons on the rare occasions we were all free. But over the last few years, since before the pandemic, the outings have dried up all but to a trickle. The last one was in August in fact. Maybe it was because we all moved slightly further away from the Falmouth base that we all lived around. Dave lives east of Truro now. That’s almost considered to be in England by many of us whose homes lie west of Chivvy Roundabout. Maybe it was because we each developed our own styles and no longer all stood elbow to elbow on the same patch of sand or grass, taking the same shot, using the same ND filter, with only our varying levels of competence in the editing suite separating our finished results. Dave, a fine art graduate, moved more closely towards abstracts in green spaces, while Lee pursued a minimalist vision, mostly of silhouettes strolling along shorelines through glass extended to three hundred millimetres or more.
For me it always was the epic vistas that caught my attention. As I write this story, I look up at the five large acrylics that fill the wall behind my PC. Big landscapes in every one of them. A pair of cormorants crossing the glowing evening sun at Godrevy (of course – and it’s not even on Flickr yet); incoming surf on the rocks at Trebarwith Strand: A blue and purple long exposure sky at the eastern tip on Madeira and the black church of Budir under that unforgettable pink swirling bank of Icelandic cloud compete for my attention. Along with a shot I took at Botallack last June when the sun set in a peachy glow that coloured the sea and sky before me. All fantastic memories. All big bold stories of sea and sky. All taken last year in fact. I only just realised that. Photographically speaking, 2022 was a vintage year for me.
Not that the absence of company on photography escapades has greatly troubled me. I’m a loner by heart. I love having my own space to sit and think, to take photos or not take them as I gaze out to sea and ponder about something or nothing at all. Ali is a loner as well, and although we remain eternally happy that we each found the one person in the world that seemed to completely understand us and love the effortlessness of each other’s company, we also both recognise the need for the other to have their own space to breathe life in and out. For her it’s unhurried afternoons in the charity shops of Redruth and Camborne or walks with the borrowed dogs on the clifftops of Porthtowan, while for me it’s this. Taking pictures and writing stories about them. Our spaces in life.
But while I’ve very happily continued to head for the coast with my camera alone time and again in recent years, it was quite exciting to have an outing of the Three Happy Snappers to look forward to. That’s what our Whatsapp group is called. After all, it was Dave and Lee who had started to dabble with cameras and then invited me to join the party. What’s more, a location appeared to have been agreed without my involvement, and to my pleasant surprise it was one of my favourite places at the Edge of Eternity. I didn’t even need to drive. Just wait at the appropriate location and Dave would transport us to the west and the lonely precipices above the Crown Mines of Botallack. We’d missed Wednesday and Storm Noa sadly. Check out John Baker’s shot taken here that day and feast your eyes upon those Atlantic beasts about to assault the land. I wish I’d seen that, but other events had taken me away for a few days. Of course, by now the sea and sky were totally benign, with even the predicted two and a half metres of swell looking positively bullish. To add to the challenges, much of the sea was covered with long drifts of milky brown scum, as if Poseidon himself had accidentally tipped a giant cappuccino into the ocean. No colour edits here today then.
Very quickly, three paths diverged. Lee had already vanished in the opposite direction towards Kenidjack and Cape Cornwall, while Dave explored the higher slopes around Botallack. I headed straight across the ledge of doom, still cursing myself at not having had the cojones to do so back in January when enormous blasts of sea spray painted those two old engine houses so liberally. But even a calm sea does rather wonderful things here, as the waves surge towards the rocks, sucking the water from the previous volley towards them and creating all manner of texture in the water. Six stops of light and two seconds of exposure so often produces such pleasing results. For an hour or more I sat here on the rocks watching, contemplating, and zoning out of the world as occasionally I attempted to hit the shutter at the optimum moment.
Even without the brown distractions on the water I think this would have been a black and white conversion. No epic light or colours, just a flat Saturday in spring four hours before sunset. I didn’t think I was much of a fan of black and white as the five epic colour filled vistas on my wall will testify, but recently many of my creations have had a monochrome layer added somewhere along the process. Maybe it’s the conditions that dictate it, or perhaps I’m seeing something that I didn’t before.
And talking of seeing things, have you spotted my brother yet? He’s in the shot, lost in “Dave World” and happy in his own little zone. No cash prizes on offer I’m afraid, but you will at least have the satisfaction of being able to say you saw him first. He didn’t find himself straight away, even though he knew roughly where he was. Whether there will be more “Spot the Dave” episodes to share I cannot say, but do keep watching as we continue in our attempts to revive the group that started nine years ago. You never know, we might have another expedition soon.
This is Sgwd Ddwli Uchaf on the Afon Nedd Fechan in the southern part of the Brecon Beacons, Wales. I was lucky enough to be able to pay a return visit at my favourite time of year - early Autumn - when the leaves are beginning to change colour and fall into the river, sometimes collecting on the rocks.
This is one of my very favourite places, and hopefully this shows why.
As a footnote, this was taken 8 days ago when the river levels were low, and conditions quite benign. It is very different this weekend as a lot of rain continues to fall on this area, and the rivers are now combining to threaten the villages downstream from here with serious flooding.
"Be happy! And if sometimes happiness forgets about you, you don't forget about happiness. " (Roberto Benigni)
scattata con Tamron 500mm F/8
taken Tamron SP 500mm f/8 Reflex Mirror
Difícil es saber el verdadero origen de su nombre, La teoría más extendida, cuenta cómo Hércules Tebano y sus argonautas en el siglo XIII antes de Jesucristo, al contemplar el Peñón, lo compararon con el de Gibraltar, llamado entonces Calpe, y a la vista de la gran semejanza, decidieron bautizarlo con el mismo nombre. Otros señalan que los fenicios al abandonar Calpe del Sur (Gibraltar) y viajar por la costa mediterránea, se asentaron denominando al Peñón con el nombre e Ifach, que en lenguaje líbico significa "del Norte" o "Boreal". Pero hay otros que indican que fueron los súbditos del rey númida "Sifax", los que al instalar en las faldas del Peñón sus residencias, lo bautizaron así en honor a su rey.
La historia de Calpe se pierde en la noche de los tiempos. Restos arqueológicos existentes entre el Peñón de Ifach y el Morro de Toix, ponen de manifiesto que la ciudad estuvo poblada desde tiempos muy remotos. A lo largo de los siglos fue escogida por diversas civilizaciones, íberos, fenicios, cartagineses, romanos, árabes y cristianos, valorando cada una de ellas su privilegiada situación el al costa del Mare Nostrum, su benigno clima y su estratégica situación como fortaleza militar, controlando desde lo alto de Ifach a los navegantes y desde las gargantas del Mascarat, el tránsito de caballerías. Esas mismas razones de gran fortaleza, fueron la causa de los múltiples ataques y grandes batallas. Hasta muy avanzado el siglo XVIII, piratas y corsarios llegaban a sus costas para efectuar saqueos.
De todas formas fueron los romanos los que durante más tiempo habitaron esta hermosa costa. Ellos también escogieron Calpe como lugar importante para su red de colonias que se extendían a lo largo y ancho de la Península Ibérica. La antigua ciudad de Calpe, "La puerta Tartaria", siguió siendo después una floreciente población romana. Prueba de ello son la espaciosa habitación con su corredor, pavimentada de precioso mosaico formando cenefas con dados pequeños, que apareció en el Morelló; las sepulturas, mármoles, ánforas candiles y la gran variedad de monedas romanas que continuamente se localizan entre el Peñón y La Villa, indica que Calpe asistía a un siglo ilustrado, un pasado grande y habitado por un pueblo de buen gusto.
A mitad de camino entre la villa de Calpe y el Peñón, en la misma orilla del mar, pudieron estar situados los denominados "Baños de la Reina", comidos hace ya tiempo por las olas del mar. Dicen unos que era una Edificación destinada a baños, en las que se habían instalado unas compuertas para moderar o impedir el movimiento de las olas, entrando agua por cuatro partes diferentes, dos de ellas situadas al sur y las otras dos hacia poniente, llegando de esta forma cada una de estas entradas hasta su baño correspondiente y disponiendo estos canales de tablones o compuertas que aseguraban la tranquilidad de las aguas en el interior del baño. Otros en cambio opinan, que en realidad los denominados "Baños de la Reina" eran una sofisticada factoría de salazones ("garum"). Fue este un floreciente negocio de la época, y pudo ser esta factoría una más de la larga cadena de ellas, instaladas desde las costas mediterráneas hasta la atlánticas, que tras cruzar Gibraltar, se extendían hasta Barbate o Zahara de los de los Atunes en Cádiz. Esta teoría está respaldada por la presencia en sus costas de caballas y atunes, presencia de agua dulce, necesaria para la limpieza del pescado y la proximidad de salinas, ubicadas a los pies del Peñón de Ifach.
Tras la presencia romana llegaron los árabes, que permanecieron durante varios siglos, dedicándose éstos a la pesca y la agricultura, sin descuidar la vigilancia de las rutas que pasaban por Mascarat . El fin de esta civilización se inicia en 1.254 con la conquista del castillo y la Villa de Calpe, por el Rey Jaime I de Aragón, dieciséis años después de que lo hiciera con la plaza fuerte de Valencia, creando el reino cristiano del mismo nombre. Confió la plaza a su fiel caballero Pedro Eximenis Carros, pasando después y hasta el año 1.305 a ser gobernada por el célebre almirante Roger de Lauria y a la muerte de este por otro insigne almirante de la Corona de Aragón, Bernardo de Sarriá.
La tranquilidad tardó en llegar. Las guerras y batallas continuaban. Pedro IV de Aragón y II de Valencia, tuvo que hacer frente a las amenazas moriscas de África, teniendo que reforzar las murallas de la Villa. Luego en 1.359, cuando la llamada guerra de Los Trastamara, la ciudad resistió los ataques del rey Pedro I El Cruel. Luego tras cruentas batallas navales entre aragoneses y castellanos llegó la paz.
El siglo XVI, trajo consigo el ataque continuado de piratas y corsarios, y esto motivó que por parte del rey Felipe II, se ordenara una nueva reforma de la fortificación de la ciudad, añadiéndose a sus murallas, torres vigías y una guarnición permanente. La fatalidad quiso que la noche del 3 de agosto de 1.637, la desgracia cayera sobre la población. Al no ser vistos por el vigía, la ciudad fue invadida por los moriscos, devastando la villa y haciendo prisioneros a casi todos sus habitantes, trasladándoles hasta Argel. Durante cinco años permaneció la villa casi desierta hasta que al cabo de este tiempo pudieron ser canjeados por oro y piratas presos. A la vuelta de los calpinos se realiza un nuevo reforzamiento de murallas, una que protegía el casco de la población, y la otra la ciudadela de cuyo fortín principal, sólo queda hoy en día parte del Torreón de la Peça (foto arriba). El 22 de octubre de 1.744, el vigía del Peñon, lanzó la voz de alarma. Cinco barcos tunecinos y a bordo de estos 800 piratas moriscos se dirigían a toda vela hasta las orillas de la playa del Ból. Una defensa heroica y la intervención de un joven llamado Jerónimo Ferrer Mulet (Caragol) que en el último instante logró cerrar las pesadas puertas de El Portalet, hizo retroceder a los moros, cayendo muerto el traidor Ali-Ben-Cofar (Moncófar) y prisioneros gran número de piratas.
Las convulsiones bélicas se continuaban. En la guerra de Sucesión, Calpe toma partido por el archiduque Carlos, hijo del emperador de Austria y aspirante a la corona de España, contando este con el apoyo de la flota inglesa que fondeó en sus aguas en agosto de 1705. Esta fue derrotada por Felipe V de Borbón apoyado por la escuadra francesa. Tras la derrota, la guarnición militar fue hecha prisionera y conducida a tierras de Castilla. Vino luego la guerra de la Independencia. De nuevo luchó Calpe contra el francés infringiéndole una grave derrota en la madrugada del 31 de mayo de 1.813.
La estratégica situación de Calpe le ha llevado a ser punto de atracción durante toda su larga historia. Y continua en nuestros días. Miles de familias de toda edad y nacionalidad han llegado a estas tierras asentándose pacíficamente en ellas. Por una vez, Calpe ha consentido una invasión: la del visitante que viene a disfrutar de su sol, playas y hospitalidad.
La cathédrale Saint-Bénigne de Dijon est une église orientée de style gothique du xiiie siècle située dans le centre sauvegardé de Dijon. L'édifice est dédiée à saint Bénigne de Dijon (martyr chrétien du iie siècle). Abbatiale de l'abbaye Saint-Bénigne de Dijon (vie siècle) devenue tardivement cathédrale à la création de l'évêché de Dijon en 1731, elle est classée aux monuments historiques depuis 1862 et la crypte est classée aux monuments historiques depuis 1846. Il s'agit de l'édifice le plus grand de Dijon avec une hauteur de 93 mètres.
fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cathédrale_Saint-Bénigne_de_Dijon
__________________________________
Dijon Cathedral (Cathédrale Saint-Bénigne de Dijon), dedicated to Saint Benignus of Dijon, is a Roman Catholic cathedral, and national monument of France, located in the town of Dijon, Burgundy.
Originating as the church of the Abbey of St. Benignus, it became the seat of the Bishopric of Dijon during the French Revolution, and has been the seat of the succeeding Archbishopric of Dijon since the elevation of the former diocese in 2002.
The present Gothic cathedral was built between 1280 and 1325, and was dedicated on 9 April 1393.