View allAll Photos Tagged BENIGN
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
Regionale 11214 Limone-Fossano in transito nelle campagne cuneesi in ingresso nella stazione di San Benigno, chiusa al traffico viaggiatori dal 2003.
Regional train Limone-Fossano hauled by the E464.670 entering San Benigno station, closed since 2003 for passenger services.
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
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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.
The village of Bagnoregio, is in the Province of Viterbo (central Italy) and is noted for it’s hill top location overlooking the Tiber river valley. This is another holiday snap from our recent visit to my daughter who lives in the central mountain region in Italy.
Bagnoregio dates back many centuries and consequently has an interesting history. Saint Bonaventure’s family home was here in the 13th century but like many other homes in the village, it has long since crumbled into the valley below as the rock the village is built on has eroded. Unlike most modern towns and villages, I gather Bagnoregio gets smaller and smaller over the years as homes on the edge of the village meet their sad end.
While we were wandering around in the area I saw some superb photographs of Bagnoregio where the valley was completely shrouded in mist leaving the village looking like it was floating on clouds. Unfortunately the conditions were a bit more benign while we were there and this is as good as it got in the mid-day light.
I think I may have previously mentioned the major earthquake which had affected the central Italian mountain region just a few days before our last visited. My daughter’s house had visible signs of damage but in the past few days, there have been two more major quakes and her house, along with hundreds of others in the area, has now been condemned. Luckily she was visiting us in the UK when the more recent earthquakes occurred.
Thanks as always for your interest and support.
I love walking in woods in summer, enveloped by the green canopy like a cocoon but with sparkles of sky and cloud, all the while aware of a slow-living seemingly ageless, benign presence surrounding me…
Capturing that in an image is another matter…
This is another attempt at taking a photograph about something rather than of something… the feeling of trees in summer in this instance…
(One of these days I shall run out of ellipses ;) )
This is for Crazy Tuesday and the theme Looking up. You can imagine me lying on the ground taking this.
You’d be wrong of course - I wouldn’t recommend ever doing that - eventually the man-eating ants will find you and all that will be left for others to discover will be your camera and your water bottle. A sad end….
Thank you for taking the time to look. I hope you enjoy the image. Happy Craziness :)
Sheila Ann catching the fading sun passing the North Pier at Lossie on a very pleasant November afternoon. Not often the sea is so benign this time of year.
It’s really quite liberating as experiences go. I mean, the tripod is with me, but instead of being mounted with the camera, it’s standing just over there on the dry sand, the bag draped over the top, so as not to touch the ground, while I’m over here pointing the camera along the shoreline. It’s the middle of winter, and apart from a handful of people strolling over the sand with playful dogs chasing around their feet, it’s just me. Up there behind us are the dunes I walked over to get here, swaying in the golden glow of half past three on a steely cold afternoon. From the start of November, the big car park at the top of the beach has been free to pull up in, and since we got the van, it’s become a magnet on days like this. Most times when we park there, it’s easy to get onto the front row where we can look at the sea from the cab. Last time we even managed to get the coveted left hand corner spot, where nobody can turn up and impede the view with three and a half tonnes of moving metal. Moments of liberation in a place I wouldn’t even try to come to in the busy months. Sometimes I stay up in the dunes, and at others I come down here to stand by the sea. It’s where all of life’s problems seem to dissolve away into the ether.
It’s been some years since I first noticed the misty cloud at the end of the estuary that hangs perpetually over the ocean and catches the golden hour light. This is the sort of thing we start to see more clearly when landscape photography takes us along for the ride. Quite often before I’ve stood on Gwithian Beach at low tide, taking shots with the long lens of silhouettes on the march. The Sunday parade against the misty magical backdrop beyond the mouth of the Hayle River. It was only when we started to use the big car park in winter that I began to explore the area west of the main beach more fully. And there have been plenty of times just recently when I’ve ended up here, the long lens on the camera and the image stabilisation engaged. When I stand here, that drifting golden haze is far closer than it used to be, hanging over the estuary and Porthkidney Beach like a gateway to another world. Sometimes I'll focus on a lone figure at the water's edge, while in other moments, the gulls will capture the attention. And quite often, the tops of the waves light up like diamonds on the sea. It’s an intoxicating sight. It’s not so long since I’d have automatically reached for the six stop filter and tried to drag the action for a second or two, but I’m not in such a rush to do that now. Not when the sea is as benign and beguiling as this. Those sparkling jewels are more than enough on their own.
I’ve come to the point now that if I don’t take the big telephoto lens with me, I usually regret it. When I come to this place it’s very often the only one I’ll use, increasingly so without the tripod - currently doubling up as a hanger. That’s another thing that’s gradually evolving for me. I’ve always used the tripod for just about every shot I take - even when I didn’t really need to. It slows me down and makes me think about what I’m doing. Of course it means I sometimes miss a moment, but generally I find it helps. And as you might have read recently, I’ve made a small investment to increase its stability on windy days. But when I’m standing here, looking towards the haze with the big lens on the camera, handheld is surely the way to go. Everything feels stripped down and simple. Just me and the camera - and this fantastic winter light. That lens has been such a fantastic addition to the arsenal. Even I can get a sharp enough shot, especially since I stopped being so precious about sticking devoutly to base ISO.
The other thing about these diamond sea moments is that they need next to no editing at all. Maybe a little lift here or a tiny tuck there, but as raw files go, they’re pretty low maintenance. Not quite “out of camera,” but as close as it gets. As raw experiences go, this is about as close as it gets too. Simple joys on these winter days at the edge of the Diamond Sea.
Autumn comes late in the Sierra Nevada Foothills and if the weather is benign it tends to stick around for awhile. Soon, the cold winds of winter will strip away the last remnants of autumn, and the quiet season will begin.
Here the leaves on our Japanese Maple have morphed into a sizzling scarlet bouquet of color. The turning of our maple tree is my signal that it's time to wrap the pipes and get out the winter clothes.
Nevada City CA
After a prolonged and benign autumn, winter has come in with a vengeance! The south "ridge" of Buckden Pike stretches away towards the mass of Great Whernside in the distance. On the right is the memorial, freshly adorned with a poppy wreath, to the Polish airmen who crashed in this vicinity in World War II.
The Northern Cardinal is a pretty common sight in the woodlands around Ottawa in the winter, lighting up even overcast days. I love seeing them, but normally don’t try to get images of them. They are very skittish, and seem especially gifted in frustrating photographers.
This was one of eight males displaying for two females in a wooded area northeast of Ottawa. I was surprised to see three males at once, initially, but then I remembered that an unusually warm late winter would mean ‘spring’ to local birds. Robins are out of the woods and down on the thawing grasses, and all species are gearing up for seasonal mating.
Pretty soon there were five, six, seven, and then eight males, all circling in the branches around the two females. Like nutritional behaviour, mating behaviour makes birds pretty tolerant of benign intruders. This male sat for a minute looking from me to one of three females, and back.
Vue d'ensemble du vitrail du transept sud, œuvre du maître verrier parisien Édouard Didron (Le Martyre de saint Étienne)
This is a wide angle shot from Kendwa Rocks Beach Resort at Zanzibar, Tanzania. The dramatic African sky during sunset presented a unique perspective, the sun appearing as a red disc in the sky, and an orange cloud appearing over it like a fiery eyebrow. Just like a benign eye in the sky.
“Peace is the result of retraining your mind to process life as it is, rather than as you think it should be.” Wayne Dyer
After escaping to a quiet place in the woods for a week, I was able to retrain my mind to accept some of the serious changes that are happening to my body. Last month, I was told I have a benign tumor compressing my spinal cord and it has been slowly causing partial paralysis in my right leg. It took 4 years to find the growing tumor. It only took two weeks from diagnosis to a consultation with a surgeon in a big city Center who is recommending surgery as soon as they can fit me in to do a 10 hour operation. Needless to say, I was shocked, then scared and then angry. It was a lot to process in a short time. However, taking time to get some perspective on what is important in my life in a quiet place with beauty all around, was the best therapy ever. I greeted the new day watching a sunrise with my husband who has been a rock for me. Now I am ready to greet each new day with optimism and a plan to stay strong to rise above the challenges the day brings. Life is still good.
The Merchant Hotel on Belfast’s Waring Street was the headquarters of the Ulster Bank for a century and a half, and since 2010 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. Sculptures depicting Commerce, Justice and Britannia, look down benignly from the apex of the magnificent facade.
The Merchant Hotel is located in the Cathedral Quarter nightlife district.
This description incorporates text taken from the Merchant Hotel’s website.
Our garden shed is home to all things yard related including a little skunk who has lived underneath it for the last few years. The skunk and I have an understanding--he doesn't mess with me and I don't mess with him. So far things have worked out quite well. In fact, I have learned that skunks are really quite benign animals. Like all beings, they just want to be safe in their environment.
Happy Slider's Sunday everyone and welcome to December 2019.
Nevada City CA
Hummingbirds continue to impress with their spacial awareness and body control.
In the Garden of Benign Neglect.
They are not really beasts but Blue Jays do punch above their weight. Like a ventriloquist, they throw a pretty realistic hawk scream, and while you're looking for that raptor, don't ignore the acorn whizzing toward your head. This individual was number three of a benign foursome that briefly paused in a treetop above Armand Bayou before passing overhead toward the eastern shore, giving me just enough time to line up the shot.
Worth viewing in large: Newquay Zoo, Cornwall, England.
There were two kids (10/11 years old) on my left as I attempted to get close to this Peacock - they were taunting the poor thing and running at it as well. I was afraid to get any closer as signs of 'road rage' were already being exhibited.
Incidentally, the Mother stood, smiling benignly at her two darlings - I needn't tell you what I was thinking...
Seule partie conservée de l'ancienne abbatiale construite entre 1001 et 1018 par l'abbé Guillaume de Volpiano pour abriter le tombeau de Saint-Bénigne, la crypte de l'église - érigée en cathédrale en 1792- est l’étage inférieur d'une rotonde du bâtiment initial. À l'origine, elle n'était pas souterraine. Comblée à la Révolution, elle fut dégagée et restaurée au milieu du 19ème siècle.
La crypte fait l'objet d'un classement au titre des monuments histo-riques depuis 1846
A late afternoon shot from Chrome Hill. A sheep making the most of the benign conditions (and few people) to have a late snack!
Presenza (quasi) straordinaria sul celebre "treno del cemento" per Robilante, dove il caimano di prima serie E655.047 si sta dirigendo verso Cuneo.
Un treno dove questo gruppo di locomotive ormai a fine carriera è sempre stato ben poco presente.
S.Benigno di Cuneo (CN)
20/02/2018
Foto Andrea De Berti
" LOS LIBROS SON EL MÁS CONSTANTE Y ESTABLE DE LOS AMIGOS ; EL MÁS SABIO Y ACCESIBLE DE LOS CONSEJEROS Y EL MÁS PACIENTE DE LOS MAESTROS " ( Charlers W. Eliot )
" NO HAY DOS PERSONAS QUE LEAN EL MISMO LIBRO " ( Edmund Wilson )
" SI NO PODEIS DISFRUTAR LEYENDO UN LIBRO REPETIDAS VECES , DE NADA SIRVE LEERLO NI UNA SOLA VEZ " ( Oscar Wilde )
UN LIBRO ABIERTO ES UN CEREBRO QUE HABLA ; CERRADO, UN AMIGO QUE ESPERA ; OLVIDADO , UN ALMA QUE PERDONA ; DESTRUIDO , UN CORAZÓN QUE LLORA "( Proverbio Indú )
" LOS LIBROS SON ENTRE MIS CONSEJEROS , LOS QUE MÁS ME AGRADAN , PORQUE NI EL TEMOR NI LA ESPERANZA LES IMPIDEN DECIRME LO QUE DEBO HACER".
" QUE OTROS SE JACTEN DE LAS PÁGINAS QUE HAN ESCRITO ; A MI ME ENORGULLECEN LAS QUE HE LEÍDO " ( Jose Luis Borges ).
" EN EGIPTO SE LLAMABAN LAS BIBLIOTECAS EL TESORO DE LOS REMEDIOS DEL ALMA. EN EFECTO , CURÁBASE EN ELLAS DE LA IGNORANCIA , LA MÁS PELIGROSA DE LAS ENFERMEDADES Y EL ORIGEN DE TODAS LAS DEMÁS." ( Jaceks Benigne Bossuet )
" BORRA MUCHAS VECES SI QUIERES ESCRIBIR COSAS DIGNAS DE SER LEÍDAS ". ( Horacio )
" BUSCAD LEYENDO Y HALLAREIS MEDITANDO ".
" CUANTO MÁS SE LEE , MENOS SE IMITA ".( Jules Renard )
" DIME LO QUE LEES Y TE DIRÉ QUIÉN ERES , ESO ES VERDAD , PERO TE CONOCERÉ MEJOR SI ME DICES LO QUE RELEES " ( FranÇois Mauriac ).
" ES UN BUEN LIBRO AQUEL QUE SE ABRE CON EXPECTACIÓN Y SE CIERRA CON PROVECHO ".
We are well and truly into Autumn in South Australia after a reasonably benign summer. However, there has been no rain for weeks - a very odd concept for someone who grew up in Scotland!
So very little greenery but the early morning sun on the dry grass has its own beauty.
Infrared 720 Canon converted
Off the beaten track in Tullecombe wood. The South Downs National Park, England, UK
Dal primo Gennaio 2021 GTT,GruppoTorineseTrasporti ha cessato il servizio sulla linea Canavesana,affidando tutto a Trenitalia.
Questo ha fatto si che i tipici convogli di GTT,ETR234,ETR Y0530 e i TTR lasciassero posto ai moderni ETR103,104 ''POP'' di costruzione Alstom.
Inoltre hanno incominciato a circolare i ''Minuetti'' Ale 501 e 502,nonchè dei semplicissimi TTR sotto veste e proprietà Trenitalia.
Nella foto vediamo un ETR104,per essere più precisi il numero 104 mentre transita sul celebre ponte sul Malone nei pressi della stazione di San Benigno.
Sullo sfondo vediamo la Abbazia Di Fruttaria fondata poco dopo l'anno mille,molto gradevole nelle varie inquadrature nei pressi della stazione.
*foto scattata con drone*
I woke up around 2:30ish this past night only to realize that I had left my closet door open. My vision was blurry since I was not wearing glasses, but I did detect the she monster. She was starting to emerge from the closet with some of the azalea that I had snapped off a bush just very recently. I realized it was closet monster mating season and she was going courting. Good luck to her. At least she’s fairly benign.
Anyway, Happy Birthday to Björn!
Yippee! It happened! My one and lonely cactus bloom has blossomed. I internally debated about calling the newspaper, fortunately the saner half won. I'm still seriously chuffed about it though, go Cactus!
In realtà il suo nome è San Benigno Torre Nord. Terminato nel 1992, è il più alto grattacielo di Genova ( 109 m, 26 piani ). Ha partecipato al progetto il mio caro amico architetto Andrea Messina , ora 85 anni, compagno di gite del CAI , a suo tempo, maestro di scialpinismo.
All'interno uffici amministrativi : se volete contestare qualche multa dovete recarvi là ( io ho solo telefonato ) !.
Qui ripreso da sotto la dopraelevata.
Oggi nuovamente blocco stradale dei dipendenti della Piaggio a Sampierdarena . Ho fatto prima a posteggiare l'auto qui sotto, dopo un'ora di imbottigliamento, e proseguire a piedi
The "Big pencil"
I've always loved the contextual aspect of scarecrows. The idea of an effigy set out away from the mainstream. Standing guard over a field of crops, day and night, regardless of weather. I used to look for these things as a kid and always found them disturbing. Part of this was the surprise in discovering them. They would often pop up, seemingly out of nowhere. In my fertile youthful imagination, they had the ability to come to life. And for me anyway, it was not to serve as a playmate but to run me down and swallow me up. Deep down I knew this was not possible, but that did nothing to dispel the distrust and uneasiness. It lingers even to this day. It meshes so well with the eeriness I sense around cornfields in particular. The inability to see beyond the first couple of rows is disturbing. And the rustling of stalks, pushed by even the slightest breeze (or who know what) is unsettling at best. Like many fearful things, the terror is greatly enhanced by one's own imagination. My vision here was to bring life to those nightmarish thoughts. The specter of a dark witch towering above the cornstalks, swaying about in the wind is jolting. Witches and scarecrows hark back to the Wizard of Oz. In the film, one was benign while the other evil. Combining them into one, evil wins.
This is my rendition of Bucky from Civil War!
I wasn't originally planning on making this guy, but Andy (Delta Customs) wanted a figure from Dylan, Aaron, and I... so I decided to make him.
The jacket is styled after my second Negan jacket with the etape, and the mechanical arm was carved out to emulate the moving metal plates in the arms.
The arms were also given ball joints per Andy's request, credit for that goes to Chris aka McLovin and AndrewVXTC.
I have a Walking Dead figure for next time ready to go along with one more Marvel custom. I also have a few more... western... figures I'm finishing up as well.
See you all next time!