View allAll Photos Tagged Certainty
At the Berlin Botanical Gardens, inspired by:
"For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream."
Vincent van Gogh
1,5 Millionen Lichtpunkte haben den Ort ein paar Wochen lang verzaubert - genau was man braucht an den dunkelsten Tagen des Jahres...
I who learned to fly, with each flight
of pure teachers
in the forest, in the sea, in the
streams,
back in the sand
or in dreams.
I stayed here, tied up
to the roots,
to the magnetic mother, to the earth,
lying to myself
and flying
only inside of me,
alone and in the dark.
That's why I profess
the clarity that never stopped
and I learned from the birds
the thirsty hope,
the certainty and the truth of the flight.
Excerpt from the poem "El vuelo" by Pablo Neruda
Auld Lang Syne , Isles of Scotland (99, 125, 18) - General
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Isles%20of%20Scotland/100/...
Afraid of the Dark
"I'm afraid of the dark," he said,
but what he meant, I couldn't grasp.
I'm afraid of the light instead.
What more could terrify me than a future I have to face,
a gleaming torrent of certainty,
a resounding push forward,
but the dark?
The dark is my putty; a shadowy liquid,
a fickleness that prays on hope and fear,
and with it holds an escape.
He fears the dark because it can deceive him.
I fear the light because it is the truth.
Written by
CautiousRain 21/F/USA
from: hellopoetry.com
When you scream, it sounds like a lullaby
When you beg, I get all gooey inside
Tonight I take your eyes, mind and tongue
To spread the word and watch your kingdom come
Another night with you, another wound
You keep me in stitches, you tear me to pieces
I need new voices in my head to speak my secret evils with
I need new lovers in my bed to be my friends and special pets
I need your scent all over me
I need to taste your blasphemy
I need to know with certainty that the nectar was worth the squeeze
It's just the way that we are diseased
It's the blade that stains us
It's the sweetest disease
It's so contagious
It's just the way that we are diseased
I's the blade that stains us
It's the sweetest disease
It's so contagious
Once upon a time
I ripped the wings from my spine
But when I hide inside your eyes
I still pretend that I can fly
Tell me every secret
So you can fall in love
Then to fall to pieces
I need new voices in my head, a new disguise for me to hide
I need new lovers in my bed to feed my secret appetites
I need your sins all over me
I need to taste this tragedy
I need to know with certainty the nectar was worth the squeeze
~Otep
Song: Special Pets
The days when operating the Rhäsa Tanklager was a certainty for Hector Rail's former Di6 locomotives are long gone. On September 27, 2025, two former NSB locomotives stood idle in Nossen, while EuroDual 2159 261 of Netzwerkbahn Sachsen was busy with the tank wagons transporting diesel. In the photo, the train from the Tanklager has almost arrived at Nossen station. After a quick shunting maneuver, it continued towards Döbeln.
8-10 mm. Completely reddish brown colored blowhead fly with yellow head. The different species from this genus are difficult to distinguish. Only the females can be determined with certainty, based on the shape of the cleat. The ordinary crooked body has a light that is flattened and barely protruding.
Similar species
Looks a lot like the mystical crook body, but can be distinguished by the flattened cleat. Species from the genus Myopa are also colored red-brown, but have a white head.
Biotope
The species parasitizes on bumblebees and can therefore be found everywhere where bumblebees can be found: from gardens and city parks to moors and bogs.
Appearance
A general species that is spread all over the Netherlands. Flight time late May to early September.
Herkenning
8-10 mm. Geheel roodbruin gekleurde blaaskopvlieg met gele kop. De verschillende soorten uit dit genus zijn moeilijk van elkaar te onderscheiden. Alleen de vrouwtjes zijn met zekerheid te determineren, aan de hand van de vorm van het klampje. De gewone kromlijf heeft een klampje dat afgeplat is en nauwelijks uitsteekt.
Gelijkende soorten
Lijkt veel op de mystieke kromlijf maar is aan de hand van het afgeplatte klampje te onderscheiden. Soorten uit het genus Myopa zijn ook roodbruin gekleurd, maar hebben een witte kop.
Biotoop
De soort parasiteert op hommels en is daarom overal te vinden waar hommels te vinden zijn: van tuinen en stadsparken tot heide en hoogveen.
Voorkomen
Een algemene soort die verspreid over heel Nederland voorkomt. Vliegtijd eind mei tot begin september.
The Shed at Old Warden is a famously mysterious structure whose exact age and function is unclear. Some say that it is a portal to a parallel universe, others that it is houses the infinite number of expendable volunteers used to hold up the bunting for planes, such as the one in the picture, to fly under. What is known with certainty, however, is that it has the uncanny ability to appear unbidden and unexpectedly in a great number of otherwise fine aeroplane photographs.
The DHC-1 Chipmunk is 1940's trainer used by many air forces around the world, including that of Canada whose national markings it carries, and remains a popular aircraft for private pilots.
The white square visible on the grass below the aircraft is the target for flour bombing attempts by this and 3 other barnstorming aircraft. As the announcer told us, 'The safest place to be standing in the entire airfield during the flour-bombing is on the target itself - they never manage a direct hit', and he was right!
"If one has the answers to all the questions - that is the proof that God is not with him. It means that he is a false prophet using religion for himself. The great leaders of the people of God, like Moses, have always left room for doubt. You must leave room for the Lord, not for our certainties; we must be humble."
- Pope Francis
Cambridge slipped into its autumn colors as she rode—
cool air threading through the streets,
leaves gathering in soft rustles along the curbs.
Her coat lifted slightly in the breeze,
boots steady on the pedals,
moving with the easy certainty of someone
who knows exactly where she’s going,
even if the day hasn’t fully decided its direction yet.
Behind her, the old brick blurred into warm tones,
a city shifting toward winter one breath at a time.
But she rode ahead of it all—
a clean, swift line of motion
cutting through the calm of a Cambridge fall.
Hay algo indescriptible cuando el sol se eleva sobre los ghats de Varanasi, los escalones espirituales que conducen al Ganges, el río sagrado de India y el más místico del mundo. En ese momento, la certeza de que nos encontramos ante el despertar del mundo, de la Tierra y todas sus aristas, alcanza su cúlmen cuando alguien entona una oración en silencio o un sacerdote reza frente a este caudal que recalibra los sentidos.
Durante cualquier viaje a Varanasi, adelantar la alarma del reloj (antes de las 5:30, para ser exactos) supone la mejor forma de disfrutar de los muchos matices que ofrece esta ciudad ubicada en el estado de Uttar Pradesh. Pero siempre, eso sí, bajo el conocimiento parcial de lo que vamos a encontrar en sus riberas. Porque Varanasi puede que no sea la ciudad más monumental de India, pero sí la que evoca gran parte de su espiritualidad. La determinación de quienes se bañan en sus aguas buscando limpiar sus pecados para alcanzar la iluminación e interrumpir el samsara, concepto que engloba el deambular por diferentes vidas en función de sus actos.
There is something indescribable when the sun rises over the ghats of Varanasi, the spiritual steps leading to the Ganges, India's sacred river and the most mystical in the world. At that moment, the certainty that we are facing the awakening of the world, of the Earth and all its edges, reaches its peak when someone intones a silent prayer or a priest prays in front of this flow that recalibrates the senses.
During any trip to Varanasi, setting your alarm clock ahead (before 5:30, to be exact) is the best way to enjoy the many nuances that this city located in the state of Uttar Pradesh has to offer. But always, yes, with partial knowledge of what we are going to find on its banks. Because Varanasi may not be the most monumental city in India, but it is the one that evokes much of its spirituality. The determination of those who bathe in its waters seeking to cleanse their sins to achieve enlightenment and interrupt samsara, a concept that encompasses wandering through different lives depending on their actions.
Nikon D 300 18-200 VR
Il existe de multiples variétés de mouettes. Identifier la bonne espèce avec certitude est affaire de spécialiste. Leur plumage diffère selon les saisons Heureusement, chez tous nos amis Laridés ( Mouettes, Goélands, Sternes et Labbes ), les mâles et les femelles sont identiques.
Il y a cependant quelques différences notables qui ne peuvent échapper à I'œil du néophyte.
Nous avons retenu les principales espèces. Le goéland railleur en Camargue, le goéland d'Audouin en Corse, certaines espèces de haute mer ou quelques espèces égarées comme la mouette bougmestre ne manqueront pas de vous rappeler qu'ornithologue est un métier.
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There are many varieties of gulls. Identifying the correct species with certainty is a matter specialist. Their plumage varies seasonally Fortunately, among our friends Laridae (Gulls, Terns and Jaegers), males and females are identical.
There are some notable differences which can not escape I'œil the neophyte.
We have identified the main species. The slender-billed gull in the Camargue, the Audouin's gull in Corsica, some species of sea or a few species such as gulls lost bougmestre not fail to remind you qu'ornithologue is a profession.
the tree has no opinion about time. it grows in both directions through both moments - roots down into what we call future, branches up into what we call past, or perhaps the reverse. we are the ones who need sequence, who need to know which way time flows. but the water holds no such certainty. it reflects without interpretation, showing that warm and cool, ending and beginning, memory and anticipation exist in the same instant. perhaps this is what stillness teaches: that time is not a line we travel but a point we occupy, that every moment contains all moments, that the only direction is now. the tree already knows this. it has always known.
Compositionally challenged 38
Changing Seasons
Shot with a Minolta "CE Rokkor 80 mm F 5.6" (enlarging) lens on a Canon EOS R5.
A huge apology to everyone yet again for my longish absence.
For several months it's been just one mini crisis after another so my photography more or less had to go on hold.
I can't say with any certainty that I will be any more efficient in my postings, so I will just do as and when....
Fortunately my interest hasn't waned , but unfortunately I'm getting a bit desperate to have my cataracts done as it's almost impossible to get the focus right with any certainty!
It's my own fault as it's something I kept putting off cos I'm a cowardy-custard! Now the lockdowns are here I could have to wait a year apparently! Oh my .....
I'm not complaining as I know everyone is suffering one way or another, so I'm counting my blessings.
Anyway - as you've probably guessed , this is another from my archives ! I changed the original to black and white to show the various reflections more and I also curved the lines of the blind behind to give a bit of surrealism.
Avhal’s voice interupted the conversation. “K’hall, the signal has ceased. It wasn’t possible to pinpoint its origin—closest estimate is within 500 sectors.”
K’hall stood, his eyes narrowed. “Are you certain it was the same signal?”
Avhal stepped closer. “No doubt,” “The signal was strong for a short time. It is unusual. There is no mistaking it.”
“Hold position here. Remain cloaked. Continue scanning in case the signal resumes.” K’hall stood in thought then shifted his gaze toward the girls, His stare of his icy blue eyes was unsettling—like he was peeling back their thoughts layer by layer.
Kayla felt the weight of his scrutiny and broke the silence. “What do you mean by allies?”
K’hall set back down, speaking slowly, his voice low. “Are others of your kind aiding you in this mission?”
His expression darkened. “The signal Avhal detected—it came from a device like the one you carry.”
Both girls stiffened.
K’hall’s eyes locked onto Kayla. “As I have said, the lizards must never gain the ability to breach the veil.” His tone sharpened. “I must know—are you working with others that share your abilities?”
Kayla shook her head, “There is only Adrienne and me. There is a mistake. The signal you received must be coming from some other source.
K’hall’s voice dropped. “Are you certain those who were captured did not survive?”
“Of that I am certain. The reptiles have a device but cannot activate it to send a signal,” Kayla replied, her voice steady.
“Two of your kind were taken by the lizards and perished. Both were jumpers. Both carrying devices, correct? Why do you say the lizards only have one device? What happened to the second device?”
“Adrienne now carries the second.“ Kayla said. “She was unaware of her bloodline or any of this. The reptiles laid one of the captured VDDs out as bait—it called to her. It was when she accidentally activated it that I found her.”
“And the device the lizards possess? Could they have already used it to breach the veil?”
Kayla shook her head, “The reptilians will be unable to activate the VDD they have.”
K’hall didn’t blink. “How can you be so sure of this? The lizards are cunning. They have learned much from humans.”
Kayla stated with certainty, “VDD activation is controlled by thought and requires someone with our DNA. The device is useless to anyone else.”
K’hall’s questions were beginning to feel like a trap. She couldn’t read his thoughts. Kayla’s concern grew.
Then it struck her. She hesitated, glanced at Adrienne, and spoke slowly—almost to herself. “That signal… there IS one possibility.”
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You can view Quantum Fold episodes in order from the beginning in her album titled, Quantum Fold:
www.flickr.com/photos/199076397@N02/albums/72177720326169...
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The specific origin of the Generals of the Ulla cannot be assured with certainty, but, due to the common characteristics of these masquerades, it is necessary to look for it in the different armed confrontations that occurred in the region throughout the 19th century: first the fight against the French invasion and, later, the revolution of 1846, which ended with the battle of Cacheiras, with the troops of each of the sides crossing the spaces in which this carnival is kept alive today. The different Carlist wars that took place in Spain during the nineteenth century would undoubtedly help create a collective astonishment that led to their ridicule.
The specific origin of the Generals of the Ulla cannot be assured with certainty, but, due to the common characteristics of these masquerades, it is necessary to look for it in the different armed confrontations that occurred in the region throughout the 19th century: first the fight against the French invasion and, later, the revolution of 1846, which ended with the battle of Cacheiras, with the troops of each of the sides crossing the spaces in which this carnival is kept alive today. The different Carlist wars that took place in Spain during the nineteenth century would undoubtedly help create a collective astonishment that led to their ridicule.
It's strange, uncanny, to look at a photo of a place you remember.
While taking the photograph, your mind arranged the scene in your memory. Thinking back with certainty, I remembered two gas pumps, several exposed windows. The sign was different, maybe to the right a bit.
Now seeing the photo, I'll remember the place differently (and still maybe not accurately).
I don't have a photograph of where exactly this service station was in relation to the rest of the town. But I have a vivid memory of it; I have that same certainty. And I likely am just as wrong.
My memory and recall of this specific little town is probably not all that important. What's important is that I now understand just a little better how memory works.
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'Briss'
Camera: Mamiya RB67
Film: Fomapan 100
Process: FA-1027; 1+14; 9min
Kansas
July 2025
Mother, Teacher, Shaman, Yogi, Earth Medicine Enthusiast, Writer of sorts, Friend, Care Taker, Yoga Teacher, Instructor, Animal Lover, Horse Rider, Owner of Great Hair, and a seriously wonderful warm person.
Shot with a Nikkor -H 85mm 1.8 . I left this full size so you can zoom in as far as you want. I can say with 100% certainty that this lens is sharper in many aspects than the Nikkor 85 1.4 AIS. I own both and this lens is clearly sharper , its bitingly sharp. This particular lens was made in 1971. The 85 1.4 is a completely different lens with serious magic in it and will do what this lens isn't capable of in many ways but in terms of raw sharpness , the H-1.8 wins.
To truly see the ability of the lens this is best viewed on a calibrated monitor , desktop or laptop.
There is no output sharpening on this image either , just conversion, contrast, and normal adjustments. If you were wondering or on the fence about this lens and you're reading this. Here is a great example. Get one.
Thanks for swinging by to check out my work, and for comments and Favs as well..
Model release signed.
Do you think someone needs to order me to decapitate the evil people? No need! I am alienated anyway, I feel enraged with a massive sense of wrong, I do no longer reflect and be hesitant because I have got certainty now! I deeply believe in the pap of far-right propaganda. I have got my grievance and I know what the prompt remedy is! If you are a liberal or a communist or whatever, your head is no longer safe! You enemies of mine have not understood that my violence is not just the "relief of my aggression" - it is much more than that. Violence is the acting out of my truth, it is part of my liturgy, and it confirms my faith.
NIDO, DOLCE NIDO
La Cicogna bianca è diventata il simbolo dell’Oasi e senza dubbio ne è la principale attrazione da quando la zona dei Quadris con i suoi ambienti umidi e le strutture già allestite è stata scelta per l’insediamento di una delle “stazioni sperimentali per la reintroduzione della cicogna bianca” in Italia. Oltre 60 esemplari volano liberi nei cieli dell’Oasi e nel territorio circostante. Le Cicogne sono uccelli migratori che svernano nei paesi caldi dell’Africa e si dirigono verso l’Europa per passarvi l’estate e nidificare. Un tempo nidificavano anche in Italia, ma non si sa con certezza né il periodo né le cause del decremento numerico e poi dell’estinzione della specie come nidificante.
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NEST, SWEET NEST
The White Stork has become the symbol of the Oasis and is undoubtedly its main attraction since the Quadris area with its wet rooms and already set up structures was chosen for the installation of one of the "experimental stations for the reintroduction of the white stork” in Italy. Over 60 specimens fly free in the skies of the Oasis and in the surrounding area. Storks are migratory birds that winter in warm African countries and head to Europe to spend the summer and nest there. At one time they also nested in Italy, but neither the period nor the causes of the numerical decrease and then of the extinction of the species as a breeder are known with certainty.
CANON EOS 6D Mark II con ob. CANON EF 70-300 f./4-5,6 IS USM
Hearing a bittern in the spring is almost a certainty at some reserves, seeing them is thankfully a common occurrence but getting a photo is something I have struggled with. Often they appear from a direction that you wouldn’t expect and as a result they tend to take you by surprise. Yesterday at St Aidans we were lucky to manage a couple of decent views of this bird that is once more establishing itself in our reserves.
But my balance is in heaven
Like the dreams of poets
I could never live like you
Who always have the certainty of the earth beneath your feet
Outfit:
Nut & Squirrel Zaynab
Nut & Squirrel Mainstore: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Silvercreek/193/46/2306
and thereby guaranteeing that it will not make you happy. It becomes a choice between certainty and uncertainty. And curiously, uncertainty is the comforting choice :-)
Ted Orland
Art & Fear - David Bales & Ted Orland
HFF!
cercis, 'NC2017-9', j c raulston arboretum, ncsu, raleigh, north carolina
They say that when the city falls fully into darkness and the streets surrender to silence, certain legendary trains begin to run again—not to carry passengers across neighborhoods, but across time itself. Their metal bodies roar against the rails like awakened beasts, echoing through stations long forgotten, where shadows remember names no one speaks anymore. Riding them is not a journey forward or back, but sideways through memory: past autumn nights, vanished lights, and cities that no longer exist except in the vibration of steel on steel. You do not arrive changed by distance, but by the quiet certainty that time, like these trains, never truly stops—it only passes through the night unseen. The unmade
April 1941. The news in England reports the bombing of London by Hitler's air force and blackouts prevails in the cities. In the midst of the press articles, one piece of news went almost unnoticed: Virginia Woolf had not been heard from for several days. It was later learned that the English novelist ended her life by drowning in the River Ouse.
—
She writes this in her farewell letter to her husband:
“Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier 'til this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.”
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Blind is the first part of a three-part installation, “The fifth season”, that questions our tendency to follow a path of self-destruction. It is related to the imminent threat of dramatic consequences for all living species as a result of climate change. It tries to dig deeper into the roots of our denial.
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Blind can be visited at the gallery La Maison d'Aneli
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Milena Carbone's art studio
Novels - art photography - dance performance
“That looks like him.” Lee summoned up a piercing whistle in the direction of the figure by the shore that reduced my left ear to a bout of whining tinnitus, scattering a nearby group of oystercatchers into the air as he did so. It was helpful that Lloyd was in photographer mode, because it instantly gave him away when all we could really remember from our previous meeting was that he was quite tall, and he didn’t have the trademark beard that we had been expecting to identify him with. We all do photographer mode, and it’s what separates us from everyone else; edging back and forward, from side to side and peering intently at something that nobody else can see as we weigh up our compositions. “Should I stand here, or three inches to the left? Should I go forward a bit, or back ten feet? Should I have the tripod fully extended or belly down on the sand?” You don’t often see the selfie stick brigade taking quite so much care over where they’ve put that rock or whether they’ve lined up their repeating diagonals before they hit the shutter button.
I wasn’t sure I was going to be around for Lloyd’s visit, but the big plans to go far north to the Highlands and Islands had been parked for the time being, meaning a get together at Godrevy was now on the agenda. I’m always ready for a reason to go to Godrevy after all. Lloyd had already been here for some time, and you’ve probably seen the image he took before we arrived. We saw it first on the back of his camera so there. Just saying. It’s definitely his in case you were wondering.
Initially we headed for a spot that not many people make it to, on the rocks below a small cliff near the lighthouse, where it seemed we’d gatecrashed a party of one solitary seal, basking in the sunshine and watching us interestedly. I messaged my friend Katie, who in her spare time is a member of a sea life rescue group. Somehow in her busy life she manages to squeeze rescuing stranded dolphins, whales and seals among other aquatic mammals in distress, as well as photographing the underwater world and finding all sorts of fascinating things I never even knew existed. Who knew there was so much to see below the dark waters off the coast of Penzance? “Yes we’re monitoring it,” came the reply. “We think it’s just enjoying living there at the moment.” I looked again at the seal, which gazed back at me in return, almost smiling. I decided she was probably right. What wasn’t right was the light; we were here too early and retreated back up to the cliff path, watched as we went by a pair of black eyes that still seemed to smile. I never tire of watching the seals here – they usually come and watch me with interest as I pitch my tripod on the rocks just above the water here, no doubt wondering what on earth I’m up to. It always feels like a shared moment.
Back at the clifftop near the bench, Lloyd had a plan for sunset and made himself ready for the killer shot, while Lee eventually wandered away to the west, presumably in search of distant lone figures on the beach to stalk at two hundred millimetres. Meanwhile, I headed back down to the water’s edge where our new friend regarded me once more with those smiling black eyes, and giving it as wide a berth as it could I found my spot on the rocks, just in time for the sun to drop below the bank of cloud and illuminate the receding tide. Sometimes you just know you’ve got a shot that’s going to make you happy. After a while I decided I’d had the best of it, and returned to the top of the cliff, exchanging one last grin with those ever watching eyes as I went.
Lloyd was already at work behind the camera, and I joined him on a wide rocky shelf where we discussed the joys of photography and his plans for the rest of his visit. He was on a family holiday, and we all know that you can only get away with so much roaming around on lonely clifftops with your camera bag when your loved ones are with you. We stayed until dusk, neither of us sure when to give up and put the cameras away. It’s always like that when I’m alone here, and when you’re with someone who works in a similar way, that certainty in when to finish is often further fogged. But it had been a successful visit and we both left that clifftop feeling we’d got a shot or two worth sharing. We said our farewells and looked forward to Lloyd’s next visit when photography would be the central focus for him here. He’s rather good at it too.
I headed back down to those rocks a week later. The seal was gone. Maybe a pair of black smiling eyes were watching me from the water, but I didn’t see them.
..:: More information in my blog Ashraf Rathmullah. The link is in information and all my links ::..
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I know nothing without certainty. But the sight of stars makes me dream.
Non so nulla con certezza, ma la vista delle stelle mi fa sognare.
(Vincent Van Gogh)
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Outfit:
[ hoorenbeek ] NG Outfit - Auden
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Dati Tecnici
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a) Fuji X-H1 + Anello adattatore FRINGER-EF-FXPRO2 + Canon Zoom Lens EF 24/70mm f.2,8 L USM
b) Tempo 1/90s apertura a f.6,3 + 1/3 di stop (a mano libera no flash);
c) Focale nell'ottica 61mm, reale circa 92mm, ISO/ASA 320
d) Tecnica di impressione del sensore (Tecnica dell'Esposizione a Destra)
e) Lettura Esposimetrica in Media a Prevalenza Centrale con esposimetro della macchina;
f) Messa a fuoco (auto).
g) Lux Ambiente Diretta 4750° kelvin (cielo coperto nuvoloso);
h) Prima Post-Produzione per effettuare un minimo intervento del bilanciamento tonale nelle varie aree del fotogramma con Nikon Capture NX 2
i) Seconda Post-Produzione con Adobe Photoshop CS6 per il bilanciamento della compensazione dell’Esposizione con le zone d’ombra;
l) Post-Produzione di completamento con Nikon Capture NX 2.
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Mio breve Curriculum Vitae su LinkedIn: - My Brief Curriculum Vitae on LinkedIn:
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Visualizza il profilo di Luigi Mirto/ArchiMlFotoWord
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…a modo tuo
.
….ho camminato
sotto l'acqua d'inverno,
nei giorni bui, tristi,
dove nulla c’era…
ne uno spiraglio di luce.
Guerre e montagne
ha attraversato…
tutta la terra percorsi,
gettando al fuoco tutto,
bruciandomi la vita
strappandomi le carni.
Ma per tutto il tempo
ho continuato…
avanti sono andato
per abbracciare lei
per stare accanto
al suo sottile fianco.
L'albero della vita
noi scuotemmo,
e.... il dolore dell'uomo
su questa terra
ci scrollammo.
Dal nostro amore…
nascesti tu, …oh, caro figlio.
Su questa terra non vivere
come un estraneo
un sognatore… ne
come un vagabondo, ma
ama i libri, le nuvole,
il mondo intero,
ma prima di tutto
ama te stesso.
…a modo tuo
apprezza oggi quello che
domani non c’è certezza.
Del fiore che secca
prova tristezza, perché...,
perché il nuovo
....non sarà mai lo stesso.
…………………………. Luigi Mirto
.
.
… your way
.
….I walked
under the water in winter,
in the dark, sad days,
where there was nothing ...
nor a glimmer of light.
Wars and mountains
went through ...
all the earth traveled,
throwing everything into the fire,
burning my life
tearing my flesh.
But all the time
I continued…
ahead i went
to hug her
to be beside
at its thin side.
The tree of Life
we shook,
and... the pain of man
on this earth
we shook.
From our love ...
you were born, ... oh, dear son.
On this earth do not live
like a stranger
a dreamer ... not even
like a wanderer, but
loves books, clouds,
the whole world,
but first of all
love yourself.
… your way
appreciate what today
tomorrow there is no certainty.
Of the flower that dries up
feel sadness, because ...,
because the new
....It will never be the same.
…………………………. Luigi Mirto
.
beneath ancient arches, she moves forward with quiet certainty, framed by stone and shadow, carrying the invisible as much as the visible. the light ahead doesn't blind—it invites, hollowing the air into something almost holy.
The world is a wonderfully weird place, consensual reality is significantly flawed, no institution can be trusted, certainty is a mirage, security a delusion, and the tyranny of the dull mind forever threatens – but our lives are not as limited as we think they are, all things are possible, laughter is holier than piety, freedom is sweeter than fame, and in the end it’s love and love alone that really matters.
— Tom Robbins
I very nearly talked myself out of attending this carnival. In the end, it wasn't so much a strong desire that brought me here. Rather it was a premonition of how bad I would feel the next day if I had blown it off. Truly a case of motivation as a result of negative consequences. Over the years I've learned that the outcome of events such as this are unpredictable. But there is the absolute certainty of failure through inaction. The carousel of life gives you only one ride; best to make every moment count.
My ambivalence with carnivals stems from the fact that they make me sad. I walk through the venue surrounded by people having fun, yet everything I see creates a sense of melancholy. I'm detached at the surface level, but deeply engaged in the visuals. The camera is able to frame my feelings into something tangible. Here the chair riders are cast into a blur as if being spun around a luminous water fountain. Simultaneously magical and utterly forlorn.
In moments of quiet stillness, when the world’s clamor fades into the distance, we often find ourselves face-to-face with the depth of our own thoughts. It’s as though the mind becomes a vast landscape, uncharted and waiting to be explored. These rare pauses in life offer us clarity—a chance to peel back the layers of daily distractions and reconnect with something truer, something timeless.
When we allow ourselves this space to reflect, it’s not just about finding answers. Sometimes, it’s about embracing the questions. What are we striving for? What does it mean to live meaningfully? These ponderings might lead us to unexpected places—memories revisited, ambitions reimagined, or truths long buried beneath the surface.
Such reflections strip life down to its contrasts. They remind us that joy is richer because of sorrow, that certainty often coexists with ambiguity, and that the beauty of life lies as much in its complexities as in its simplicities. Without the noise and distractions, these contrasts come into sharper focus, urging us to see not just the shades of gray in between, but the striking light and shadow that shape our experiences.
And perhaps the greatest gift of these moments is perspective. They remind us of how fleeting our worries can be against the backdrop of eternity, how small yet significant our place is within the vast expanse of existence. It’s in these moments that we recognize the value of simply being—of allowing ourselves to think, to feel, and to be present with our own thoughts.
Life, in its intricate and fleeting nature, invites us to pause now and then—to linger in the stillness and allow its meaning to unfold.
Under the midnight sky, the ocean shimmered, a fractured mirror of moonlight. From the depths, the Ocean's Daughter emerged. Not real, yet more real than anything I had known before. She moved with the water, calling my name. It was not a sound I heard, but a feeling within my soul. The shoreline, a ghost of a place, dissolved into mist, leaving only fractured images behind. My ship’s tattered sails whispered secrets I couldn't quite decipher, accusations I could never answer. And in the moonlight, I became unmoored. The tide pulling not at my body, but at something deeper, a thread of understanding unraveling. I knew, with a certainty beyond knowing, she wasn't a memory, but a guardian. And as the night grew still, I understood: I wouldn't escape her, because I was already gone.
She was the current...
and I was the sea.
.
much better large size and on black - molto meglio in grande e su sfondo nero
.
.
azzurro indistinto
Non credevo che l'azzurro
indistinto
si confondesse così
tra questi muri noti
troppe volte sono tornato
indietro
a giorni di gioco
senza certezze e affanni
e nel pensiero felice
inconsapevole
ho trovato la pace falsa
delle convenienze.
Oggi no, confinato da sbarre
inaspettate
sono prigioniero inerme
e attendono ancora lunghi corridoi
e porte aperte nel vuoto
inesauribile
di scelte mai facili
appena velate di colore.
.
.
indistinct blue
(My translation is only a faint attempt to render in English an Italian born text)
I did not think that the blue
indistinct
is so confused
between these walls known
I came too many times
back
on game days
without certainties and difficulties
and in the happy thought
unaware
I found the false peace
of conveniences.
Not today, confined by bars
unexpected
I'm helpless prisoner
and long corridors are awaiting
and open doors to the vacuum
inexhaustible
of never easy choices
thinly veiled with color.
.
.
Guido Ranieri Da Re
novembre 2009
[0220]
There are those who regard me as a man on a mission when it comes to planning adventures. Cycling, hiking and rowing trips have all been accompanied by a detailed itinerary of where we're staying each night, the distances between each overnight stop, the most likely looking pubs along the way, and an exhaustive kit list specific to the adventure. You don't need to carry spare inner tubes or wear a cycle helmet for a long distance rowing trip, and you won’t be wanting your hiking boots to pedal halfway across France either. That sort of thing. You will want your swimwear for a trip to Iceland by the way. Not for the sea of course - not unless your middle name is Poseidon, but there are plenty of opportunities to take to the waters with all of that geothermal gubbins going on beneath the unforgettable landscape.
For me the adventures all start with the planning and the anticipation, which can go on for months beforehand, with excited exchanges of information and all manner of unexpected gadgets being discovered on an almost daily basis. Who knew for example that you could turn an old beer can into a makeshift stove with a bit of cropping and some judiciously placed puncturing of holes? Pour in a splash of methylated spirits, light the blue touchpaper, and it’ll burn just long enough to boil a small kettle or cook a pan of noodles. When we triumphantly completed our first long distance hike in the Scottish Highlands, the walk itself just a week in length, it felt as if the journey had been much longer because of all the preparation that went beforehand. In fact the anticlimax of no longer having a big escapade in the wilderness to look forward to was something I hadn’t really anticipated, and Ali appeared to be considering whether to send me to a grief counsellor when it was all over. The only way forward was to start working on another one. A year later, four of us cycled across a generously sized chunk of France, pitching our tents in beautiful campsites along the way, following the canal path across Brittany to Nantes, and then the Loire Valley trail as far as Chinon before we ran out of time and had to return to work. One night we wild camped on the dry riverbed just outside Saumur and toasted giant mushrooms by the campside fire under the stars. Some things aren’t part of the plan, and the magic just unfolds by itself.
It's a bit like that with photography adventures. The preparations are slightly more relaxed in terms of getting a consensus on which locations are essential and which can be jettisoned if time is against us. But I still find myself avidly poring over maps at every available moment, measuring distances between the flags I've planted, looking at options for accommodation and reporting to my fellow travellers with increasing excitement as the big day gets ever closer. At the moment, I’m forever lost in daydreams over forthcoming photography adventures in the Outer Hebrides, Lofoten, the Iberian Peninsula and yes, you guessed it, Iceland again. None of them are in the diary just yet, but they’re never far from my mind.
As that first trip to Iceland approached, Lee had gently suggested that we keep the itinerary loose and travel either clockwise or anticlockwise according to how the weather forecast looked. Or maybe we should just head right across the south coast and retrace our steps back to Reykjavík at the end of the third day? To add to that, I'd appeared to have completely ignored the Golden Circle. It was a fair point. We'd never been anywhere quite like this before, and the climate is notoriously unpredictable, whatever the time of year. But fixed with a rigid certainty between these ears, Búðir was point 1, Kirkjufell was point 2, and so on all the way around to Skógafoss (point 13, in case you're trying to keep up). I'd even bought a copy of the Lonely Planet guide to the Ring Road.
Lee was driving the campervan as we left Reykjavík and I was on map duties, so all I needed to do was shrug innocently, instruct him to turn left and head for Borganes as we joined the ring road, and three hours later the black church of Búðir was the first object of our attention. From there, the rest would follow by default. I do love it when a plan comes together. Well if it worked for the A Team then I figured it would do for us. Although we raced past point 8. And we went whale watching in between points 4 and 5 at Húsavík, which was impulsive on the financial front as well as being distinctly off-piste. Now how did that happen I wonder?
Placing my camera beneath the lilac tree, a few leaves still stubbornly attached, while the moon was rising on the horizon at about 8pm to 9pm.
“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me want to dream.”
- Vincent Van Gogh
1.
uncertainty about what is happening, intended, or required.
"there seems to be some confusion about which system does what"
synonyms:uncertainty, lack of certainty, unsureness, indecision, hesitation, hesitancy, scepticism, doubt, ignorance,a situation of panic or disorder.
2.
the state of being bewildered or unclear in one's mind about something.
Entered in
"AWESOME ABSTRACTS" - SOTN
www.flickr.com/groups/1344849@N25/discuss/721576797139244...
Your light always beckons me
Calls me, cajoles me
Along this stretch of road
I keep returning
As if there is something
I need to be told
It frustrates me
And compels me
At the same time
But if I don’t stop
It’s worse
I can’t leave it behind
Why? What is it?
Why do I come here
I feel like I am running on the spot
A strange satisfaction is my reward
A recognition of love twisted
Shared and adored
*****
Have you ever felt compelled to keep returning to a favourite stretch of road? I have known this road in Sussex [in the UK] all my life, often parking up and walking from certain spots from the road up to and along the Downs Way and other lesser known paths, as I used to with my family when I was young.
It feels as though it is imprinted on my DNA, and maybe by now it is. This road from Wilmington to Litlington and then on to Friston runs alongside the River Cuckmere in places, but then rises up above it so the views of the river in the valley below can be seen. It runs through different habitats and some beautiful villages, all with medieval Parish Churches. It also runs past the famous Long Man of Wilmington, a vast chalk outline figure of a man holding a rod in each hand, but the date of his original carving is unknown with any certainty.
But every time I drive along this road, it is different. The weather and the seasons keep me entranced, as do the parts that are scenically beautiful. But often it is when the weather can be harsh that the most atmospheric shots are taken, when things do not feel quite safe.
But here in this image, the weather was more benign. However, in this particular spot, despite the sunshine, there always seems to be a chill in the air. I do not know why I feel so compelled to stop at this point, but I do, and maybe one day I will find out.
This work can also be found on a new page about the Sussex landscape on my website, as I have written quite a few works inspired by the photography I have taken over the years recently, so I decided that there was going to be enough to merit the addition of a separate page on its own for those works that challenge our perception of what we are seeing and perhaps more accurately, what we are feeling.
The page is called Land Sense, and it is a celebration of how the landscape interacts with our emotions, our wellbeing and at times, the ability to take us out of our comfort zone.
More will be added over time, but here is a link where an introduction can be found and the poems designed in such a way that they become a complete work with the image as a viewing experience.
(Monticola imerina)
Anakao
Madagascar
I only managed to see this species thanks to a good dose of persistence… and a bit of stubbornness on my part. Meanwhile, my travel companions chose the smarter option — relaxing on the comfy sunbeds by the beautiful beach in Anakao(*).
I knew this was the only place where I had a real chance of photographing this species. And on top of that, we had the possibility of seeing our first-ever Tropicbird and the amazing Crab-plovers — all lifers for us!
However, to get to Anakao, taking a boat from Toliara is practically the only viable option. Although the two are relatively close by sea, there’s no proper road connecting them directly along the coast. The inland route is extremely rough, slow, and often impassable, especially during the rainy season — it involves sandy tracks, river crossings, and a 4x4 vehicle, and even then it can take many hours.
In contrast, the boat ride from the port in Toliara to Anakao only takes about an hour (depending on sea conditions), and it's a much faster, more reliable, and scenic way to reach the village. Most travelers, locals included, use this maritime route for convenience and practicality.
To also visit Nosy Ve (not to be confused with the much bigger, much more touristy Nosy Be up north), timing was a bit of a challenge. The schedule of the daily ferry between Toliara and Anakao meant we would have had to spend at least one night in Anakao — and unfortunately, we didn’t have that extra time available in our itinerary. So, relying on the regular ferry wouldn’t have worked for us if we wanted to include Nosy Ve in the trip.
So, I’d booked our accommodation, in Toliara/Tuléar, with that in mind. They offered a boat trip to the small and stunning island of Nosy Ve, with a stop in Anakao.
But when we arrived, and I asked about the trip, the receptionist looked genuinely surprised. The manager explained that what was mentioned in the reservation was only a potential option, not a certainty. She said the sea was too rough and the trip wasn’t safe at the moment. I tried to argue my case — passionately enough that both my wife and our friend Rosa started telling me to calm down and maybe just let it go. I was frustrated, for sure, but not ready to give up. Since we had three nights there, I figured I’d sort things out myself, maybe head to Toliara’s port and find a way.
Half an hour later — after checking in and dropping our bags at the bungalows — the manager returned with news: she’d found a group of French speakers (they were from Reunion) who also wanted to go, and she’d managed to get a bigger boat… just slightly more expensive. “Ah, clever move,” I joked to my companions. We agreed straight away.
The trip turned out to be fantastic. We boarded — if you can call it that — using colourful zebu carts (yep, that’s the “harbour”). The beaches, both in Nosy Ve and Anakao, were absolutely gorgeous, with warm, clear water. The food, especially the fish, was delicious, and the views were incredible.
We crossed Nosy Ve from south to north, under a blazing sun, without a scrap of shade. There were some great photo opportunities with Tropicbirds, but we were disappointed to only spot the Crab-plovers from around 80 meters away, on a small offshore island.
Once in Anakao, after a tasty meal — grilled tsivery and a sampling of a couple of local beers — I’ll admit, the idea of just staying in the sun loungers with that postcard-perfect beach in front of me was very tempting.
But this was my only shot, and duty called. So I went off with the guide, just the two of us, walking south under the blazing sun. The sand was soft — too soft — and made the walk feel three times as long. We kept going forever (or so it felt), until we finally turned inland, crossed a couple of fences, and spotted a female of the species — but quite far away.
The guide found a shady spot and stayed there, clearly not planning to move. So off I went, into the dense, scratchy vegetation that left my legs completely marked up. The light wasn’t ideal — way too harsh — but I still managed to get some decent shots. On the way back, we bumped into a few Olive Bee-eaters and I got another nice little photo session in.
We were already tired, walking back along the beach, when I got a call from my wife — sounding a bit worried. Everyone was apparently looking for me because the boat captain wanted to head back. According to him, the sea was getting rougher. I didn’t really notice any change, but I gave a nice tip to him and the helper anyway, and got two big smiles in return.
Getting off the boat onto the zebu carts (**) was another little adventure — water up to the poor animals’ bellies, and at least ten people rushing to help. Carrying bags, holding cameras (I never trust my camera to anyone), offering hands… and sometimes just giving us a push on the backside we didn’t exactly ask for!
By the end, we had no idea who had actually helped and who was just hanging around — it was chaos trying to figure out who to tip.
But all in all, it was a fun adventure. A bit painful for me, I’ll admit, but well worth it!
(*) A photo taken by my wife at Anakao beach www.flickr.com/photos/anasilva/53376135049/
(**) Also from my wife: a photo of the zebu cart waiting as we unboarded the boat www.flickr.com/photos/anasilva/53414439418/
==================***==================
All my photos are now organized into sets by the country where they were taken, by taxonomic order, by family, by species (often with just one photo for the rarer ones), and by the date they were taken.
So, you may find:
- All the photos for this trip Madagascar (2023) (174)
- All the photos for this order PASSERIFORMES (3553)
- All the photos for this family Muscicapidae (Muscicapídeos) (454)
- All the photos for this species Monticola imerina (3)
- All the photos taken this day 2023/11/16 (19)
==================***==================
This is a work of Bernard C. Meyers. He had a hanging at the Cove Street Arts gallery in Portland, Maine in December. I really like what he does with his images. I am not sure why the mat looks so grey as it was adjusted to be white on my screen. Double click to view large.
Bernard Meyers certainly sees the same things we do, but plays with the contextual cues, so that we are unsure of what is making the world look the way it does in his photographs. Over the last three years he has persisted in pushing the edges of the architectural envelope. First, to show us only barely recognizable architectural elements, to a point, now, where only a slight whiff of rational geometry remains. Surfaces collide like scenes from Blade Runner, where those surfaces are not what they seem. We feel like we are experiencing a kind of vertigo that keeps making us have to reset our visual mechanism, looking for a more rational world, but never quite getting there…not with any certainty. But the effect is thrilling, consciousness raising, and certainly rewards our extra efforts, necessary to get there. [From a review of his art.
It was the kind of morning that feels like a secret — one you almost hesitate to speak of, for fear it might vanish if you give it shape in words. The air was heavy with a cool, silken mist, rolling softly across the ground like a great exhale from the earth itself. The rising sun struggled to pierce through, painting the fog in delicate shades of rose and amber. Each breath I took felt crisp and alive, touched with the scent of damp earth and autumn leaves.
From within this ethereal curtain, he emerged — a red deer stag, the sovereign of this hidden kingdom. His antlers, grand and sprawling, caught the faint light like the branches of an ancient tree. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as if time itself had bent to his pace. Then, he lifted his head and called — a deep, resonant bellow that rolled through the mist, a sound at once primal and noble, speaking of power, territory, and the eternal cycle of life in the wild. The sound carried not just through the park, but through me, stirring something ancient in my own bones.
In that moment, I was utterly still. Peace settled over me like the mist on the meadow. I felt no rush, no intrusion of the world beyond this scene — only the quiet certainty that I was witnessing something rare and perfect. Tranquillity wrapped around me, and I stood there, suspended between awe and gratitude.
This was more than just a photograph. This was a memory carved deep — a reminder of why I venture into the wild with my camera, why I rise before the sun, why I stand in the cold waiting for the world to wake. For mornings like this, for moments that belong to no one and yet, somehow, to all of us.
This is the main staircase of the historic Mail Exchange building in Bourke Street, Melbourne. It was completed in 1917 and designed in 'Beaux-Arts' style architecture by John Smith Murdoch, who was Australia's first Commonwealth government architect. He also designed Australia's first national parliament house in Canberra.
I first discovered this building by accident 2 years ago. I literally wandered in and photographed as much as I could - in a state of amazement and awe. Amazed that there was no one here inside away from the busy street right outside. This time I planned to return, and I had two years to think about angles, lighting, etc.
What I find amazing about this place is its sense of purpose, its certainty of place and period in time, which is unmoved by our technological achievements in the 100+ years since it was built. In stark contrast, I had two meetings in a large sky-scraper a block up the road from here after I took these photos - one on the 15th floor and one on the 31st floor - all glass and steel minimalism ... this building only has 5 or 6 floors, but it feels so tall and grand!! Times have changed, but this place is timeless.
A glass cup is divided into three parts: the base or the foot, the stem, shaft or leg and the chalice, balloon or body of the cup.
Did you know that the crystal cups are not 100% polished, but the base and shaft are left unpolished? This is so that the cup doesn´t escape from our fingers. In this pic we can see the stem of the cup and the details of the crystal.
Ok.. is this real? Is this verified? Maybe yes. Maybe not. But it makes sense by simply believe that everything has a reason, a why. That everything is there for something.
So.. There are still unsolved questions? Have to keep looking..
maybe not the questions themselves, but directly the answers: because this world has them. At least until I discover that it is not necessary to answer them all.
Maybe simply living is the threshold between doubt and certainty. Maybe "live" is the answer to everything.
. #MacroMondays
. #Glass
HMM!!
=)
I was at a memorial for a family member this week.. and it made me remember this beautiful song....
Sabe Deus
Tudo o que me vai na alma
Sabe Deus
Onde encontro a minha calma
Só Deus sabe
Como calma era a manhã em que saíste
Nesse dia em que me deixaste
E para sempre partiste.
Sabe Deus
Como é fria a nossa cama
Sabe Deus
Como a minha voz te chama
Só Deus sabe
Como posso eu viver nesta tristeza
De saber que não vais voltar
É esta a minha certeza.
Mas se Deus quiser
Tu estarás à minha espera
Onde é sempre primavera
Mas se Deus quiser
Voltarei para junto a ti
Renascendo onde morri.
---- and... just a rough English translation ^^ :
God Knows
Everything that lives in my soul
God Knows
Where I can find peace
Only God knows
How quiet was the morning you left
That day when you left me
And were gone forever
Knows God
How cold our bed is
As my voice still calls you
Only God knows
How I live in this sadness
Knowing that you will not come back
That is my certainty
God willing
You will be waiting for me
Where it's always spring
God willing
I will come back to you
and be reborn again ...
This is how we in Europe used to see the drama of our lives. You end up on "Gottesacker", God's acre, the graveyard. Life on earth never was the only thing that mattered. The other world mattered as well, perhaps even more so. You would get there, God willing. These days, most Europeans are no longer sure about this. There is relief that the Church can no longer dominate our lives, but there is also regret that life must be lived without any such certainties. We are still resident aliens, but, for most, the home has gone. Fuji X100F.