View allAll Photos Tagged DEEPEST
My deepest apologies to Edouard Manet for having borrowed his title.
On November 1st, we usually wear winter clothes. Not this year, it was too warm.
In deepest Dinosaur Country UP 6755 leads a mixed consist with an eastbound manifest across the Laramie River alongside US 30 somewhere near Medicine Bow, Wyoming.
After the last two crap years its probably time to look out the Delorme, scanner, railfan timetables, sunscreen......... LHR, BA219 and head west.
20 September 2019
ML_20190920_32br copy
The amazing Jökulsárlón lagoon. It's not possible to put into words how awesome this place is; it's a photographer's paradise!
Der in 800 m Höhe gelegene Walchensee ist einer der tiefsten und gröÃten Alpenseen in Deutschland - Lake Walchen, located at an altitude of 800 m, is one of the deepest and largest alpine lakes in Germany (Upper Bavaria, Germany)
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
~ e.e. cummings
in the deepest sense, about what is being photographed :-)
Ansel Adams
HPPT! Bring Back Humanity to our Government! Resist the Despicable Authoritarian Orange Cockroach and his Cabinet of Stooges and Buffoons!!
water lily, sarah p duke gardens, duke university, durham, north carolina
âMay Light always surround you;
Hope kindle and rebound you.
May your Hurts turn to Healing;
Your Heart embrace Feeling.
May Wounds become Wisdom;
Every Kindness a Prism.
May Laughter infect you;
Your Passion resurrect you.
May Goodness inspire
your Deepest Desires.
Through all that you Reach For,
May your arms Never Tire.â
â D. Simone
Blog Post
sllorinovo.blogspot.com/2017/09/lode-shiny-shabby-dahlia....
Manta rays are large rays belonging to the genus Manta. The larger species, M. birostris, reaches 7 m in width, while the smaller, M. alfredi, reaches 5.5 m. Both have triangular pectoral fins, horn-shaped cephalic fins and large, forward-facing mouths
Manta rays: deep, deeper, deepest!
Research has shown that manta rays do not swim, but glide down. Gliding is more efficient than swimming. they have been seen at over 560 ft. down
Providence Canyon State Outdoor Recreation Area is a 1,003-acre (405.90 ha) Georgia state park located in Stewart County in southwest Georgia, United States. The park contains Providence Canyon, which is sometimes called Georgia's "Little Grand Canyon". It is considered one of the Seven Natural Wonders of Georgia. It is also home to the very rare plumleaf azalea.
One of the quirkier attractions of the state park is an abandoned homestead including nearly a dozen rusty, 1950s-era cars and trucks. Due to the environmental damage that removing the vehicles would cause, park officials have decided to leave them alone.
Providence Canyon is not actually a purely natural feature: many of the massive gullies â the deepest of which is more than 150 feet (46 m) â are the result of erosion due to poor farming practices in the 19th century.
This story of the origin of the canyons has been commonplace since the 1940s, but the formations in the canyons are at least partially natural. Although there were probably a few early arrivals before 1825, the first heavy influx of settlers in Stewart County only came after the Treaty of Indian Springs (1825), by which the Creek Indians were forced to cede all their lands east of the Chattahoochee River. Evidence of the existence of the canyons at this time includes their mention in a deed by James S. Lunsford to William Tatam from 1836.
The park lies on marine sediments, usually loam or clay, with small areas of sand. Loamy sand topsoils overlie subsoils of sandy clay loam, sandy clay, or clay in most of the uneroded sections. Nankin, Cowarts, Mobila, and Orangeburg are the most prominent soil series. The canyons have significant exposure to clay, over which water often seeps. Water is mobile in this well-drained area.
Credit for the data above is given to the following website:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Providence_Canyon_State_Park
© All Rights Reserved - you may not use this image in any form without my prior permission.
Le persone silenziose sono quelle che hanno le menti più rumorose.
Stephen Hawking
Una delle più belle immagini che io ricordi dal viaggio in Indonesia. Le costellazioni della Croce del Sud e del Centauro si stagliano sulla via lattea australe, mentre nubi di zolfo vulcanico fuoriescono dai crateri del monte Bromo. Il tutto nel silenzio più profondo ed irreale, nel confine fra mondi e mondo.
Buona serata
#vialattea #indonesian #vulcano #sulphur #crater #cratere #nubi #clouds #cielo #sky #astronomy #crux #mimosa #rigel #indonesia #bromo #java
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory. that is within us. It's not just in some of us it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others - Maryanne Williamson
The deepest and steepest valley that I had to cross on this walk. I like the look of the house in the bottom. The beach was fairly empty courtesy of it being a weekday
Taken at :: Digital Art - Cammino & Vivo Capovolto maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Retrospect/90/81/22
Darkness : In deepest sympathy loving thoughts are with me as i face this time of loss. Memories of a dear one who had gone on before us will remain forever to be lovingly cherished. May the memories that you hold dear. Comfort you during these difficult times.
Reveal your deepest celebrity secrets and have fun for hours with our brand new social game: Kiss Marry Kill!
This interactive party game is available at Cosmopolitan shopping event starting tomorrow 31st!
The Last Supper
Sometimes the deepest love
Is shown in the silence
And sometimes the care
Is shown with a gesture
The cup we shared
At our last supper
Reminds me of your simple love
That time cannot break
Nor death ever erase
I placed my wooden grail cup on the floor, a flagstone, near the altar, as the light was just touching it from the main east window. This simple cup in my collection always evokes gentleness in the atmosphere around it no matter where it is placed, and the words follow.
Glynde Church, East Sussex, UK.
Other poems and images can also be found on my website:
It wasnât all sunsets and speedos on this trip to Fuerteventura. And although Ali reminded me that our time here started almost three weeks later last year, weâve been on the island in deepest winter before and not seen any rain. This time, the heavens vented forth on a number of occasions. Never for more than about three minutes at a time, and quite often followed by warm sunshine almost immediately, but even so - weâd come here to escape the end of the winter at home. The first week and a half were dogged by âLa Calima,â with sand blasted across the sea from the Sahara Desert that whipped around us with alarming vigour. The exfoliating shower gel in the wash bag back at the hotel might as well have been left at home in view of the free skin care regime the elements were offering. Today, weâd decided to walk to the rim of Calderon Hondo, a nearby volcano, only to be rained upon as we arrived at the top. Iâd never felt so cold here before. It wasnât supposed to be like this. Last year, the temperatures had at times reached the low thirties, but at the moment we were more than ten degrees cooler as we sat at the edge of the crater feeling slightly downcast. There was no point in going and lying on the beach today. Weâre not into suffering for the sake of it you know.
So after descending back to the leeward side of the volcano and the comfort of the car, we came here. Well we didnât at first - instead we decided to head down a very rough track at a quarter speed, dodging sharp stones and wondering whether it really was such a great idea. Eventually, we shuffled uncomfortably over a very lumpy entrance to what passed for a parking area at the top of the cliffs, and squeezed in next to a series of far more rugged looking vehicles. There was a path down to the sea, where two kamikaze windsurfers were trying their best to shred their boards and bodies into untidy ribbons, racing towards the rocks at the shore before changing course at the last moment. Maybe I could try photographing the water coming in over those rocks? Or maybe I should have pulled up at the other end of this long beach - the end that offered rather more possibilities than here; the end where I had unfinished business from last year. Twelve months earlier Iâd taken what I thought was a lovely glowing long exposure of an uncovered rock, only to find the raw image was about as sharp as a swimming pool full of candy floss. The submarine shaped rock in the sand looked as if the captain had just received instructions to intercept the stranger on the shore just as I hit the shutter. Maybe a wave had come in and nudged the tripod at the moment of truth. Maybe it was a simple case of user incompetence. It wouldnât be the first time. Weâll come back to that image - writing this tale has reminded me of a tool that wasnât in the armoury until recently.
The only thing was, the light didnât look like it was going to play ball today, so whatever this was going to be, it wasnât going to be a repeat performance. Even so, we crept over boulders and back along the dirt road to the headland at the edge of town, where Ali pulled out her kindle and I headed off towards the beach with the camera. In the absence of a warm glow on the horizon, maybe a moody flow on the foreground would fill the void. I wandered along the clifftop towards the beach, passing the usual array of ancient motorhomes from various corners of Europe, certain that at least one of them hadnât budged an inch since our visit here last year. Down by the water, I felt at least that I was in familiar territory. Chasing receding streaks of white foam back down towards the sea isnât exactly a leap from what Iâm often playing at ten miles down the road from home, and for once, I stopped as soon as I knew I had a shot in the bag and moved onto something else.
âThat looks just like the cappuccino Iâm having,â was the response from one of my clearly not too occupied correspondents as she viewed the image over her morning coffee. By now, I was missing cappuccino - Iâd moved onto black coffee for the duration of the holiday for practical reasons - so it wasnât at all difficult to see it for myself. Iâve got one of those milk frothing gizmos at home now, and after years of trying, Iâve finally got my home brews just how I like them, chocolate sprinkles et al. Although I donât usually take mine on the rocks; not unless itâs summer, and today didnât feel like summer at all.
It wasnât the end of the rain, although this was as gloomy as it got during our stay. Most sunset hours at the coast would be spent trying to balance out vicious dynamic ranges, and this was perhaps the only time before sunset that the histogram didnât have a tantrum on the back of the camera. If I said Iâd taken this at home in Cornwall, nobody would have batted an eyelid. But while it was reassuring to shoot a moody dark sky, we were here for warm afternoons on the beach. So thank goodness the sun was shining the next morning.
© Leanne Boulton, All Rights Reserved
Street photography from Glasgow, Scotland.
My deepest heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you that have enjoyed and supported my photography here on Flickr for little over a decade.
I don't know how long I will be gone while I am placed in emergency temporary accommodation. Please know that I intend to return as soon as I possibly can.
I am incredibly grateful for each gift donation that I have received. I may not be able to thank you personally for a while but please know that I am deeply thankful and your generosity is not being ignored.
I shed countless happy tears reading your caring and compassionate responses to my "Homelessness" upload yesterday. A couple of you shared contact details to stay in touch while I am away from Flickr and I am really thankful for that. You can always drop an email to me while I am away from Flickr but I will be unable to use Flickrmail from the mobile App.
I will hopefully be able to enjoy your photographs on my mobile but I don't get on with the App as well as I do using Flickr on my PC. I'll do my best.
I never imagined I would face such difficulties, let alone when I am already at the lowest possible ebb of capacity to cope. Every single message of support has been desperately helpful. Every kind word. Every single one. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.
If you still want to get a 'Leanne Boulton' photo fix, though the heavens only know why, I am sure there are lots of photos of mine here that you may not have seen. My first upload was in 2013! I also have some galleries showcasing the very best and most beautiful photography of others here on Flickr too. You can enjoy those while I am away if you wish.
Take care of yourselves my Flickr friends.
Keep your shutter fingers busy and I look forward to catching up with you all as soon as I am properly able to do so.
Leanne xx
NámÄstà MÃru is the deepest station of the Prague Metro, its platform is situated 53 metres below surface. The station has the longest escalators in European Union (length 87 m, taking 2 minutes and 21 seconds to ascend or 2 minutes 19 seconds to descend without walking).
The Aurland and NÊrÞyfjord are both branches of Norway's longest and deepest fjord, the Sognefjord. Aurland is located in Jotunheimen, the southernmost and highest part of the Scandinavian Mountains.
This photo was taken during a forced break after I had to drive backwards down the mountain for quite a long time to make room for oncoming traffic (a large coach). (â_â) The road up is very narrow and also single-lane. In the meantime, I've come to like the photo so much that I'm even sharing it here. Thank you for taking a closer look. But yes, that's exactly where it is, the road that's much too narrow.
hammock â north â«
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EOS R RF35mm f1.8 Macro IS STM
Exposure: Æ/6.7 | 1/500s ISO 200
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â€Guys, this is a comment-free post. Nevertheless, thank you very much for viewing the photo. Best greetings. frÌ aÌ nÌ k
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This image is subject to full copyright © Please do not use my images on websites, blogs, or in other media without express written permission. It is not permitted to copy, download,
reproduce, retransmit, modify, or manipulate my photos.
FÌ Ì¶GÌ . 2025 © all rights reserved
Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
--EE Cummings--
Woken up by the photography bug really early in the morning and captured the image along Route 1, on the way to Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon. After a torrid rain which lasted the entire day before, it seemed that the clear sky and moon indicated that it may be a great day to photograph the famous lagoon.
Jökulsárlón is a large glacial lake in southeast Iceland, on the edge of Vatnajökull National Park. Situated at the head of the Breiðamerkurjökull glacier, it developed into a lake after the glacier started receding from the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. The lake has grown since then at varying rates because of melting of the glaciers. It is now 1.5 kilometres (0.93 mi) away from the ocean's edge and covers an area of about 18 km2 (6.9 sq mi). It recently became the deepest lake in Iceland, at over 248 metres (814 ft), as glacial retreat extended its boundaries. The size of the lake has increased fourfold since the 1970s. It is considered as one of the natural wonders of Iceland.
The lake can be seen from Route 1 between Höfn and Skaftafell. It appears as "a ghostly procession of luminous blue icebergs".*
*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B6kuls%C3%A1rl%C3%B3n
And yetâit is not beauty that inspires the deepest passion. Beauty without grace is the hook without the bait. Beauty, without expression, tires.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
© All rights reserved. Please do not use my photo without my explicit permission.
Leaving the coal depot in Preston,37223 propels two wagons to the remaining stub of the Longridge branch on 29/3/1988.It will then proceed forward to the WCML at Maudland
Copyright David Price
No unauthorised use
I know your deepest secret and i forgive you because that way gangsters do, i dont let you go...........
Song: Harley Quinn & The Joker - Gangsta
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FioILtcBcLE
Greetings: Ramsa Luv
Beauty in gloomy rainy Wasdale
Wast Water or Wastwater (/ËwÉst wÉËtÉr/) is a lake located in Wasdale, a valley in the western part of the Lake District National Park, England. The lake is almost three miles (five kilometres) long and more than one-third mile (500 m) wide. It is a glacial lake, formed in a glacially "over-deepened" valley. It is the deepest lake in England at 258 feet (79 m). The surface of the lake is about 200 feet (60 m) above sea level, while its bottom is over 50 feet (15 m) below sea level. It is considered relatively oligotrophic. It is owned by the National Trust.
This song was composed in 1967 by the British songwriter Cat Stevens (whose real name is now Yusuf Islam), although his birth name is Steven Demetre Georgiou, the son of a Greek Cypriot father and a Swedish mother.
There are other versions: I know Rod Stewart's and Sheryl Crow's, which is my favorite.
The lyrics of "The First Cut is the Deepest" describe a person wondering if and how it is possible to love again after their first love was lost. "The first cut" of the title refers to one's first love disappointment. (Source: Wikipedia)
FIRST CUT IS THE DEEPEST, 2025
Esta canción fue compuesta en 1967 por el autor británico Cat Stevens (que actualmente se llama Yusuf Islam), aunque su nombre de nacimiento es Steven Demetre Georgiou, de padre greco chipriota y madre sueca.
Hay otras versiones: yo conozco la de Rod Stewart y la de Sheryl Crow, que es mi versión preferida.
La letra de "The First Cut is the Deepest" describe a una persona que se pregunta si es posible volver a amar tras perder su primer amor, y cómo. "The first cut" del tÃtulo se refiere a la primera decepción amorosa. (Fuente: Wikipedia)
While visiting family for Christmas in deepest Devon a I was lucky to be able to visit this location. I spent a lovely couple of hours there in great conditions.
Thank you Nick for the help with finding the location. :-)
Happy new year for when it come xx
One of the deepest gorges in the world in proportion to its width and a UNESCO World Natural Heritage site, the Vikos Gorge dominates the heart of the Northern Pindus National Park in Zagori, Epirus. Its imposing, vertical rocky formations, with a depth exceeding 1,000 meters, host an exceptionally rich biodiversity, with rare plants and wild fauna. At its bottom flows the Voidomatis River, known for its crystal-clear waters.
The deepest Loch in Scotland, Loch Morar runs to the sea by the shortest River Morar which runs to the sea past the silver sands of Morar Bay behind the drone. The afternoon Jacobite crosses over on the climb towards Arisaig.
Title.
Early morning. Red light. Brake lights.
Bâ (B Flat)
A Novel by Mitsushiro Nakagawa
æ¥æ¬èªã®ããããçã¯äžã®æ¹ã«ãããŸãð
âSynopsisâ
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Koreaâs cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not moneyâbut to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinationsâmirroring one anotherâignite a nationâs deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidateâs life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New Yorkâembedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) liveâsymbols of âthe order America built.â
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: âWe will never bow to terror.â
Among the crowd, Rafiâs operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasserâonce Rafiâs comrade, haunted by the memory of his sisterâs death in Gazaâtries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafiâs conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the cityâs fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
âCharactersâ
Anaya Patel â 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh â 26, Anayaâs boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato â 25, Anayaâs friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford â 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake â 26, Justinâs fiancée
President Grant M. Langford â 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles âChuckâ Baines â 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett â 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett â 30, Ryanâs wife
Owen Reed â 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance â 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway â 30, Jackâs colleague
Darryl Ross â 29, Jackâs colleague
Elijah Kane â 28, Jackâs colleague
Marcus Dane â 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett â 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell â 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcusâs subordinate
Veronica Reeves â 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris â 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen â 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe â 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad â 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser â 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam â 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah â 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza â 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad â 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari â 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser â 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi â 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
Bâ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan â the man who challenges Netflix. ð
(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)
Manhattan, New York, U.S.A. 2017 ⊠3 / 16
(Todayâs photo. It has not been published before, but Iâve recently re-edited it from the original.)
Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
English lyrics and Japanese translation
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
Volume 19ð
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Twilight sank over the harbor town, dimming the air as the rusted girders along the pier turned a burnished red.
The park in Red Hook was nearly empty; the chains of the swings stirred in the wind, clinking faintly.
Childrenâs laughter drifted from afar, only deepening the stillness that hung over the place.
Amir stood outside the wire fence, gazing at the scene, and something half-forgotten stirred within him.
There had been evenings, too, in the rubble of Gaza.
Out from the ruins of broken houses, his mother would appearâ
breathless, dust clinging to her clothes, coming to find him, to hold him close.
He could still recall the scent of her hair, the warmth of her arms.
âLetâs go home,â she had said.
Even if âhomeâ was nothing more than a collapsing shell of stone and dust, her voice alone had led him back.
A mattress laid atop debris.
A room with no walls, only wind.
Yet each time his motherâs hand brushed his forehead, that place became, undeniably, home.
Amirâs gaze returned to the New York children swaying on the swings.
The innocent rhythm between mothers and sons was repeating itself again, bathed in the soft light of dusk.
It was a world untouched by weapons or blood.
âRafi,â he murmured, barely louder than the wind,
âmaybe⊠we donât have to go on.â
Rafi didnât look away.
His eyes were clouded with the sediment of Gazaâblood and dust, the memory of ruin.
His fatherâs body fallen in shadow.
Walls blackened with fire.
Dreams torn apart.
What filled him was not tenderness, but a cold and merciless anger.
âDonât forget, Amir,â he said, his voice hard as stone.
âIn the same place where your mother held you, our fathers were slaughtered.
Those ruins are not just ruins.â
Amir fell silent.
The riverâs surface rippled red in the twilight; across the East River, the towers of Manhattan shimmered faintly, blurred at the edges.
Peace and destruction, memory and hatredâ
they mingled together in the same wind.
Behind the wire fence, childrenâs laughter still rang out.
But to the two men, it sounded only like an echo from another world.
The setting sun sank quietly, staining the bridgeâs iron joints red as the heat beneath it trembled in the air.
Rainwater pooled in the cracks of the concrete, reflecting a thin sheet of gold.
A faint steam rose from the damp air, and the salt from the harbor clung to Amirâs nose.
The boarded door of an abandoned factory hung loose,
the wind pushing in old newspapers and leaves, swirling them into tiny spirals.
From afar came the cry of cicadas, and a city bus exhaled a sigh through its brakes.
Beneath the bridge stood Amir, Rafi, and several others scattered in silence.
Some wiped sweat from their brows, eyes lowered to the ground;
others rested hands upon the girders, gazing out toward the distant light.
At intervals, the shadow of a parent waiting for a child passed by,
a white-roofed van gliding through the heat.
Amir rubbed his back, the sweat clinging to his shirt, and sat down in the shadow of the bridge pier.
Rafi stood a short distance away.
Their shadows stretched long, wavering under the harsh westering sun.
No one among their comrades moved; their stillness was a kind of breathless waiting.
âCanât we stop here?â Amirâs voice wavered into the humid air.
In his mind, he saw again his motherâs hand reaching through a crack in the stone wallâ
that small, dirt-stained hand that once touched his cheek.
The desire to return to that warmth still flickered faintly in his chest, like an ember refusing to die.
Rafi clenched his jaw, and spoke through his teeth, his words as brief and cold as a stone cast into the sea.
âDonât forget, Amir.
If you forget that night, weâll betray the dead.â
His voice merged with the creak of metal underfoot, irreconcilable with the laughter of children or the cry of cicadas drifting in the distance.
Amir narrowed his eyes, watching the flow of light beyond the railing.
Across the river, windows shimmered in layersâ
places where life went on, where dinners were being served,
where childrenâs laughter and footsteps would echo softly through the gardens.
A deep shadow cut across Rafiâs face.
His fists were clenched, the veins on his hands taut and bright.
âThat wish of yours,â he said quietly,
âdo you know it might become someoneâs gravestone?â
Amirâs gaze fell to a small white rabbit doll at his feet.
It was caked with dust, one eye missing.
Perhaps it belonged to a child who once played beneath this bridgeâ
or perhaps it had simply wandered here by chance.
Either way, to Amir, that single missing eye seemed like a fleeting glimpse of a world quietly disappearing.
Silence spread between them.
The wind hummed low through the iron beams.
Around them, the world went on moving.
A van door shut.
A parent touched a childâs shoulder.
A bus turned the corner.
Their comrades drew shallow breaths, eyes fixed on the ground or the far horizon.
Without looking back, Amir began walking toward the city beyond the bridgeâs shadow.
Behind him came a single breath from Rafiâ
a sound that carried the stillness of a corpse.
The summer dusk slowly swallowed the bridge.
The men beneath it remained as faint silhouettes,
poised between the red of sunset and the cold gleam of steel.
Rafi quietly unzipped his bag and drew out a tablet.
His fingers trembled slightly,
but he took a slow breath to steady himself,
and aimed the camera at the mark of âBââ at the bottom of mellow-echo.net.
A dark screen flickered to life, revealing a deep-layer QR code.
Without hesitation, his finger slid along the words:
âC4-ID: Vanta+Core / Ready.â
That movement sent a faint tremor through the tension of the men beneath the bridge,
blending with the dry scent of rust and the damp summer air.
From the far side of the East River, under another bridge,
sparks began to riseâone, then anotherâ
tiny flashes glowing red in the dark.
The light quivered across the shadows,
and the sound of metal striking metal echoed low.
Rafiâs eyes followed the fading silhouette of Amirâs back.
The others stepped silently away,
drawing a little farther from the bridge.
Moist air clung to Rafiâs skin,
and the mingled red of dusk and chill of steel filled the space around him.
In the hush beneath the bridge,
each flash and creak formed a strange rhythm in his chest.
A cicada cried once in the distance.
The cityâs murmur faded to a far-off haze.
Pressed beneath that wave of tension,
the men held their breath,
confirming each otherâs presence only through glances and the rhythm of their breathing.
The summer dusk slowlyâyet surelyâ
swallowed the bridge, the city,
and the shadows that remained.
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My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Thereâs still more to come. ð
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
18
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54840848974/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54829426478/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54811315069/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54793744070/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54771288620/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
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Mitsushiro Nakagawa
09th. Oct . 2025.
远䌞
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( Nikon coolpix 8700 shot )
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Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
è±è©ãšåèš³
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
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åã®æ°ããå°èª¬ã
ãBâãïŒããŒãã©ããïŒ
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以äžã¯ããŸã åçš¿ã®æ®µéã§ãããŸã æšæ²ããŸãã
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English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
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... dort unten im tiefsten Gartendschungel.
The last month's strawberries...
... down there in the deepest garden jungle.
Auswahlfoto
FÃŒr "Crazy Tuesday"
Thema "Ant POV" am 19.10.2021.
Have a ð HaPpY CrAzY Tuesday ð
and stay healthy.
Many thanks for all your views, faves and comments.
Lake Tahoe is the largest freshwater lake in the Sierra Nevada and the largest alpine lake in North America. Lake Tahoe is so clear that in some places, objects can be seen in depths of over 70 feet. One reason is that 40 percent of precipitation falling into the Lake Tahoe Basin falls directly upon the Lake. The remaining precipitation drains through marshes and meadows, which are a good filtering system for water. This summer vista is at the top near the entrance to one of the best parks on the California side Emerald Bay. There is great hiking here and you can brave the cold lake water for a swim, as well as kayak and canoe. Lake Tahoe is the third deepest lake in North America and the tenth deepest in the world.
Here is a great nature video with music to add to the wonder of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. flic.kr/p/2mMT8Yj
Ask Alexa, Siri and/or Spotify to play music
by John William Hammond . You will enjoy!