View allAll Photos Tagged Deepens
The steep cliffs and spectacular rock faces of Cataract Gorge make for great shadows and views of the misty hills beyond. There had been a fire in the forest further beyond Launceston that day so there was a definite smell of smoke in the air as I walked along the path towards the pond, further cataract and chairlift.
As the heath crisis deepens the dark clouds over every aspect of our lives are gathering . But there are still gleams of sunlight and the beauty of the natural world. It will endure, so we must too.
Poko forges into deepening snow. Utah's mountains reap uncommon snowpack depths from this year's atmospheric river. This will temper, but not eliminate drought, and the shrinking of the Great Salt Lake.
The lake, nestled in Jharkhand’s lush Patratu Valley, transforms as twilight deepens. The blue hour casts a soft indigo glow over the water, with mist rising gently from the surface and hills silhouetted in quiet majesty. It’s a moment where time seems to pause—serenity meets mystery, and nature whispers its secrets.
Finally the early spring leaves are deepening as we move from late spring to summer colours. There appearance has been quite quick to change this week as the cold / rain has given way to sun / warmth
With so many fields having been stood in water crops are late being planted.
This is Whixley Field Lane which passes Whixley Field House on its way to Score Ray in North Yorkshire, England
Bathed in warm golden light, the domes and minaret of this historic Ottoman mosque rise with quiet strength into the deepening blue sky of Istanbul. Captured from a low angle, the image highlights the harmony between form, shadow, and sunlight — a tribute to the enduring elegance of Islamic architecture. The golden crescents glint above layers of stone, evoking a sense of timeless serenity in the heart of a busy city.
It was a beautiful day for a circular walk from the North Yorkshire village of Whixley to Allerton Mauleverer. the spring greens are begining to deepen in colour now
This view is from the junction of Starra Field Lane and Ox Close Lane at Round Hill.
La imagen captura un camino de tierra que se adentra en un bosque denso, en el condado de Albert, durante un día de otoño intensamente nublado, con la luz del día desvaneciéndose rápidamente.
Atmósfera General y Luz: La atmósfera es melancólica y tranquila. La luz es tenue, suave y difusa, sin sombras marcadas debido a la densa capa de nubes grises que cubre el cielo. La paleta de colores otoñales, aunque presente, se ve atenuada por la falta de sol, adquiriendo tonos más apagados y saturaciones más bajas.
Primer Plano y Camino: El camino de tierra en primer plano parece más oscuro y húmedo, lo que intensifica los tonos marrones y ocres de la tierra y las hojas caídas. Las hojas de arce y abedul esparcidas por el suelo parecen casi apagadas, reflejando apenas la poca luz restante.
Vegetación y Colores Otoñales: Los árboles a ambos lados del camino forman un pasillo sombrío. Los rojos se ven más carmesí oscuro, los naranjas más quemados y los amarillos mostaza. Los verdes oscuros de las coníferas resaltan por contraste con las hojas caducas, proporcionando estructura al paisaje.
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The image captures a dirt road winding through a dense forest in Albert County, during an intensely cloudy autumn day, with the daylight rapidly fading.
Overall Atmosphere and Light: The atmosphere is melancholic and quiet. The light is dim, soft, and diffuse, with no harsh shadows due to the thick layer of gray clouds covering the sky. The autumn color palette, although present, is subdued by the lack of sunlight, adopting more muted tones and lower saturation levels.
Foreground and Road: The dirt road in the foreground appears darker and wetter, which deepens the brown and ochre tones of the earth and the fallen leaves. The scattered maple and birch leaves on the ground look almost dull, barely reflecting the remaining light.
Vegetation and Autumn Colors: The trees on both sides of the road form a shadowy corridor. The reds appear more a deep crimson, the oranges more burnt, and the yellows take on a mustard hue. The dark greens of the conifers stand out by contrast with the deciduous leaves, providing structure to the landscape.
Caption Enhance with Ai.
Road_MG_9816
SHAPE; My own creation AYLA
EYEMAKEUP: LuxRebel 'OHyouFANCY" #8 GOLD/BLACK
SKIN: *YS&YS* Alessandra Tone 03 BOM Skins - LELUTKA EVOX /EasyPack
HEADWARE: HAIR: YOMI AURA
Tentacio; YUN headpiece & Habeas Sanctus Gold & Lilith Horns Black/Gold
.ET. Hecate Headpiece Black [Enfant Terrible]
BINDI&Part Jewel -
SWALLOW PIXIE EARS FOR EVOX
EARRINGS: Cinphul - Grace
DRESS; + Iron Rose Outfit + {Aii & Ego}
OVERDRESS: .ET. Lendsey Overthrow Black
Tattoos: Lip; Lilith Dagda Mixed Line and Line both in Fresh
NAILS: YOMI PRECIOUS PETALS FATPACK
ROSE SPHERE: [Cubic Cherry] {Pixie} orbs
I showed you the main door to the Henry Jones Art Hotel previously, but from inside looking out. www.flickr.com/photos/luminosity7/53509663898/in/dateposted/
As the darkness deepens outside the warm inviting tones emanating from inside do attract - especially to the restaurant and bar.
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‘Brooding, surreal and unsettlingly vulnerable, Black Glass marks the arrival of a striking new voice. A brilliant debut.’
_ James Bradley
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NO GIFS AND ANIMATED ICONS, PLEASE!
the lines appear and eventually deepen. Cycles of iris and snap dragons. The roses and lilac. That day her family went about their business as if she were already gone and had become a distant memory bobbing in a sea of radio chatter and random thoughts about what was needed from the store. A sack of beans – a pound of nails – another bucket of tar. Her youngest sister stared from a distance. too young to fully understand but instinctively knowing what was expected of her and that this was not her battle yet. Mother never stopped moving – never spoke - a bitter sharp bone in her throat and you could hear the father pounding at his forge out back.
a last look to home - as deep shadows slid to dusk - white hearts on a string
“destiny” - who other than the gods can really know? You and I clutch to hope and fear and can only speak our version of what has past
tenderly, day that I have loved, i close your eyes,
and smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands.
the grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies.
i bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands
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from day that i have loved rupert brooke
I have always tended more toward a deepening of faith in solitude, a “desert” and “wilderness” existence in which one does not seek special experiences. But I concur with these others in being unable to remain satisfied with a formal and exterior kind of religion. Nor do I think that a more lively liturgy is enough. Worship and belief have become ossified and rigid, and so has the religious life in many cases.
-The Road to Joy: The Letters of Thomas Merton to New and Old Friends
In the epilogue of The Seven Storey Mountain, Thomas Merton makes the claim that our suffering and "solitude will bear immense fruit in the souls of men {and women} you will never see on earth." In some mysterious way, Paul's interior suffering, while quite personal and painful, has followed this, for instead of harboring bitterness or despair, he has allowed his own suffering to be the birthplace of a deepening compassion and love for all of human suffering humanity that indeed bears immense fruit for many people he will never meet in our wounded world.
-Paul Farmer, Servant to the Poor, by Jennie Weiss Block, pg 77-78
You sit at the edge of the water as twilight gathers, and you begin to meditate on the things you’re grateful for. Each gratitude glows like a small ember in the dusk. The warmth of a friend’s voice. The resilience you didn’t know you carried. The way light finds you even on difficult days. One by one, they rise inside you like lanterns—quiet, unwavering, luminous—almost as if they’ve been waiting for nightfall to reveal themselves.
As the sky deepens, the first stars appear—hesitant at first, then bold enough to slip through the thinning veil of day. You count them without hurry. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. Soon they drift beyond numbers, spilling across the heavens in a soft, shimmering cascade. They seem endless, even as the last light fades, as though the night is gently reminding you that some forms of brightness only awaken when the world grows dim.
A calmness spreads through you, slow and certain, as though the island is lending you its ancient stillness. The air feels touched by something otherworldly—an unseen presence that moves with the tide, patient and unhurried. Above, the stars gather like quiet companions, their glow soft as breath, keeping their silent vigil as the world slips deeper into its dreaming.
And in that hush, a truth rises softly within you—
not spoken, not taught, but remembered:
the peace you feel is not given by the island or the sky or the stars.
It blooms from the simple act of noticing what has carried you,
as though gratitude opens a hidden door inside you,
revealing a place untouched by time, untouched by fear.
Gratitude becomes a kind of inner starlight.
A soft illumination.
A returning.
A way of seeing the world not by its shadows,
but by the quiet blessings woven through it like threads of dawn.
And when you finally rise to return to your waking world, you carry the peace of that place with you—not as a memory, but as a truth:
that within you lives a sanctuary shaped by gratitude, softened by twilight, and lit by stars that never burn out. A place you can return to whenever the world grows heavy—where peace waits like a dream that never fully leaves you, glowing just beneath the surface of your waking life.
Lost
I've always really liked this shot, and while I was content with it in its normal version, I wanted to try to jazz it up a bit and make it more surreal.
I used an HDR filter on it, and used eye brighten to perk up the railings, benches and rocks. That tool not only brightens whites, but it deepens blacks so they really pop the contrast. I then used a gooify tool to alter the look of the clouds. This is sort of a standing on the brink of what Dali would do piece, and I had fun doing it. The idea was to give the clouds sort of a life of their own.
Since this had been taken with a camera that didn't have great definition, using the HDR filter brought back some of the details that were lost in noise reduction, which was necessary for a very grainy shot. HDR, though, lightens the image dramatically, so all the other steps were necessary to bring back the depth of tones. In addition, I used an Orton filter to regain the blacks in the sky, and a slight bit of vignetting to further enhance that. A black haircolor tool was used to remove a prominent pipe from the foot of the stairs that I found distracting.
While this might not be everyone's cup of tea, sometimes I just have to get a little out there or I'm bored stiff! Hope you like it. The original edit, which is still my favorite, is below.
These moguls were made by our dogs running through the snow several days ago and then covered by a light layer of new snow which softened the tracks. The photo was taken in early morning with a low angle sun deepening the colors and shadows.
Dondo-yaki is a fire festival held at the end of the New Year in Japan. It is held in the precincts of local shrines and temples. It is said that good health and family safety will come true for this year.
There are approximately 300,000 festivals in Japan. It is not only a religious festival, but also has a variety of significance, such as a festival to promote a good harvest and deepen friendships in the region.
taken on January 8, 2024
どんど焼きとは, しめ縄やお正月飾り, 古いお守りや達磨, 書き初め等を神社境内などでお焚き上げする火祭り行事。正月にお迎えした歳神様がどんど焼きの煙と共にお帰りになるのを感謝を込めてお見送りする行事とされてます。無病息災や家内安全が叶うと言われており, 新しい年の幸せを祈願する行事でもあります。小正月に当たる1月15日前後に行われるのが一般的ですが, 当地では本日1月8日の祭日に行われました。
I was on my home when noticed the sunset colors changing and broadening across the sky. Taken by causeway mile marker four.
As darkness falls upon Swayambhunath,
The mystery of this sacred space deepens.
Monks continue circulating around the great stupa. Monkeys screech and play in the shadows, while candles and fires cast flickering light, transforming this ancient temple into a realm of haunting dreams.
"Rusalka, Rusalka your arms out of water
Your hair like an alien bloom
Dark-eyed Rusalka, your brow tressed in flowers
Pale in a liminal moon
And all that you are is a star on the water
When first I went swimming, I heeded no warning
And dared breach your rippling pool
As I lulled and lingered, the ring slipped my finger
And drifted down the deepening cool
And all that I want is to fall in your shallows
And now we are wed, the water our bed
And bank to bank a property lake
And you are my wild-eyed rusalka, my river bride
Drag me down, take me away
And here we will lie, you and I, 'neath the cold, dark sky
Beware the wild rushes, my mother told me
That grow on the bank side along the salt sea
But I being young, I heeded her none
So to the wild rushes the wind carried me
The summer was here and the sun it was high
And to the wild rushes I came by and by
And there took my seat and dipped in my feet
When through the wild rushes, a voice sweetly cried
Come down, my little darling, come closer to me
The water is warm; it is salty and free
I long for your touch but I won't ask too much
And I, being foolish, walked in to my knees
Come down, little darling, and lay at my breast
Oh come a little closer and I'll do the rest
I waited so long for a lover to come
And I, being foolish, walked in to my chest
Come down, my little darling, oh farther come in
For deeper the water, the sweeter the sin
My lily lies here, if you'd only draw near
And I, being foolish, went in to my chin
Oh come, my little darling, do you feel my cool breath?
Do you feel my arms around you so warm and so wet?
Swept from my feet, she pulled me beneath
And in the wild rushes, I went to my Death"
The Decemberists - Rusalka, Rusalka / Wild rushes
The dreadfulness of hell deepens our grateful praise for the salvation we have in Jesus Christ. Hell is what we deserve. And hell is what He experienced on the cross in our place. - Tom Ascol
Two of my favorite effects for sliding are the watercolor pencil and the colored pencil. I've combined both, deepened the colors, added some vibrance for this photo!
Happy Slider Sunday!
💋 The evening unfurled like silk — that perfect hush before twilight deepens into desire. I leaned against the stone ledge outside my home, my faithful cat perched beside me, his blue eyes reflecting the amber glow of the porch light. He watched me the way only cats can — patient, knowing, as if he understood that tonight wasn’t just another night. Somewhere down the road, headlights would appear, and with them, him.
✨ The Hale Outfit by Enchantress clung to me like a secret I wasn’t ready to tell. Its silhouette — a masterwork of sensual architecture — sculpted every curve, tracing the hourglass of my form with confidence and a whisper of rebellion. The bodysuit’s daring plunge revealed just enough to suggest the rest, framed by a belt of metallic rings that shimmered like moonlight against crimson leather. It felt both dangerous and divine, a perfect balance between softness and control.
🌹 There’s something timeless about its cut — a revival of 1950s bombshell glamour blended with the unapologetic edge of 1980s high-shine couture. It’s the kind of design that refuses to belong to one decade, existing instead in that eternal realm where confidence becomes the ultimate accessory. The supple, leather-like finish moves like a second skin, every step an unspoken promise.
💄 The Enchantress Hale Outfit HUD is its own love letter to versatility: 30 rich, customizable shades for the bodysuit, belt, and boots — a palette that ranges from soft blush to midnight noir. One tap and the entire mood shifts. Red for passion. Black for mystery. Gold for the woman who knows her power.
🐾 My cat brushed his tail against my arm, a gentle reminder that I wasn’t alone in my anticipation. The night carried the faint scent of roses and rain on warm pavement. When I caught the first glint of headlights approaching, my lips curved into a quiet smile. I could almost feel his pulse quicken already — though he hadn’t yet seen what waited for him beneath the stars.
💫 Compatible mesh bodies:
• Maitreya + Petite
• Lara X + Petite
• Reborn & Waifu
• Legacy + Perky + Bombshell
• Gen X Classic & Curvy
• Kupra
• Star
💎 And tonight, my skin told a story of its own. Draped beneath the open cut of my Hale Outfit is the Venus Midnight Rose Tattoo Set, a masterpiece of sensual ink artistry that evolves with mood and memory. This set offers twelve exquisite tattoo options, each one a different chapter of the same love story — from the passionate to the timeless.
There’s Fresh, with its newly-inked vibrance and luminous, saturated tones that look as if the roses were painted moments ago… and Fresh BW, the same precision rendered in classic monochrome for a strikingly elegant contrast. Faded softens the bloom, giving the petals a lived-in sensuality, while Faded BW whispers of nostalgia in grayscale. The Aged and Aged BW layers deepen that romance, their muted pigments warming to the skin like memories etched over time. For those who adore the character of history, Old and Old BW embody the allure of vintage ink, weathered beautifully yet forever captivating. Then come the artist’s full expressions — Color and BW — lush or minimal, each emphasizing the tattoo’s exquisite floral detail. Finally, Tint and Tint BW invite personal creativity, allowing soft hue adjustments to harmonize with your tone, mood, or outfit.
Each version transforms how the roses unfold against the skin — some bold and fiery, others whisper-light — all revealing a part of who I am beneath the Hale’s crimson silhouette. Beneath the glow, the roses seem to breathe with me, turning my body into a living canvas of passion, elegance, and feminine power.
🌙 Both the Enchantress Hale Outfit and the Venus Body Heart Tatto are exclusive at the Swank Goth October Event from October 7th to October 30th.
💋 [Teleport to the Event]
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Swank%20Events/128/124/39
As the car slowed to a stop, I looked at my cat and whispered,
“Wish me luck.”
He blinked once, as if to say, He won’t stand a chance.
Our language has wisely sensed these two sides of man’s being alone. It has created the word “loneliness” to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word “solitude” to express the glory of being alone. Although, in daily life, we do not always distinguish these words, we should do so consistently and thus deepen our understanding of our human predicament.
Paul Tillich, The Eternal Now
It was a grey overcast day for a circular walk from the North Yorkshire village of Whixley to Allerton Mauleverer. The summer greens are deepening now with an occasional hint of autumn
An intersection I see at least a few times a day and never tire of, especially later in the day when the shadows deepen.
Still no rain.
A new day is arriving on the dry parched landscape of Central Western New South Wales.
As drought conditions deepen the earth will face yet another day without the desperately needed rain.
Cumnock, New South Wales, Australia.
I have never fully understood the appeal of the Mullein plant, especially in the fall, for Warblers. But Cape May and Nashville Warblers in particular seem drawn to them. I had always assumed that it might be insects hidden inside the flower pods, but this one looks pretty insect-free. Maybe this bird was just late to the party.
I have cropped this image to emphasize the vertical subjects.
The very first sun breaking the horizon creates an unusual deepening of the tones in this bird, which is great, but it can threaten my fall southbound migration identification confidence. I wondered for a while but given the eye rings, on top of other indicators, I am pretty sure this is a Nashville.
A bird's eye view of Rock Island which gave Rock Island Lake its name. Yukon's wilderness can be seen from ground level but its beauty can be obscured by the dense tree cover. Views from above deepened our appreciation of the land. Panorama from 2 files in landscape format.
Title.
September beach.
(iPhone 13 Pro shot)
Motosuka Beach. Kujukuri Beach. Sanmu City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. 2025. … 1 / 1
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images:
ELLEGARDEN … The End of the World
youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=3dlYv3ccvIMJwnjj
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 17😄
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.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Columbia Point Residences, a redevelopment of an old warehouse district near the piers of Red Hook that look south over New York Harbor, sat with Williamsburg’s commercial and arts quarter to its north, a reclaimed stretch of landfill between them transformed into a quiet new neighborhood of low-rise detached houses.
On the freshly paved streets the laughter of children echoed, and the soft afternoon sun gently lit the roof tiles and white exterior walls. The wind carried a cool, saline scent from the sea, and, far off in the harbor, a ship’s horn punctuated the calm.
Residents were building new lives here, apart from the city’s daily tumult.
At three in the afternoon the light was still mild, gilding the leaves of the street trees. Mariners’ Row—this new residential enclave—presented itself with almost calculated perfection: rows of white houses, straight sidewalks flanking them. The scent of new construction and still-wet paint hung faintly in the air.
Mark Sanchez stood by the large living-room window and imagined a happy future for his family.
His unit, ERO, was the field force within ICE responsible for immigration enforcement and removals—hardened by the harsh realities of carrying out deportations—contrasted with HSI’s international-crime investigations. But here, behind the glass, he was simply a father and a husband.
Rachel had begun preparing dinner in the kitchen. Children’s voices drifted from the distant school-bus stop.
— Calm. Perhaps life is distilled on a Sunday at three in the afternoon, — he murmured inwardly.
The afternoon light slanted more and more; shadows reflected in the window stretched. On the neighborhood street, an old man walked slowly, pushing a cart as he walked his dog. The crossing laughter of children made that scene seem like an emblem of a gentle, innocent world.
Inside the house, the children were absorbed in play, and Rachel greeted them with a smile. The outside air was mild, the breeze only slightly warm; curtains swayed softly.
Mark opened the front door and checked the mailbox. There were notices about the new school and an announcement for a local disaster-preparedness drill.
At three in the afternoon, as the second hand crept forward, silence deepened.
Beside the house’s foundation concrete there was a faint tremor.
In the afternoon hush, the harbor horn and the rustle of leaves in the breeze filled the soundscape—sounds that masked a subtle detonation so that the surrounding residents did not notice. Smoke rose slowly; there was no fierce blaze at the moment of explosion, only fine dust quietly filling the air. The collapse did not happen all at once but proceeded slowly and inevitably. Part of the exterior wall developed quiet fissures; glass trembled and fractured into fine shards. Wooden posts toppled one by one without a sound, the house crumbling inward as if in a muted dance. A small shock set off a chain reaction of charges that dismantled the structure from within—silently yet surely. The exterior split without fanfare; windows became powder; wooden supports began to fall.
But the noise had been suppressed to the greatest extent possible; the neighborhood’s residents scarcely noticed anything had occurred.
In the distance, silhouettes of buildings slumped and settled. Not only Mark’s house but a blue house about three hundred meters across the street, and a white house further in, kicked up clouds of dust.
Three houses vanished in an instant.
The wind halted for a moment; only the leaves of the street trees trembled.
Mariners’ Row’s afternoon regained its former stillness, as if nothing had happened.
Yet everything had changed.
By planting small, distributed charges of C4 at several points in the foundation concrete and detonating them in precisely timed, ordered sequences, the shockwave could be minimized while the skeleton of the structure was collapsed from the inside.
Rafi’s knowledge of architecture had made possible not mere destruction but a “quiet collapse.”
“Use only the force that’s necessary”—that was his credo.
From a rooftop some distance away, Rafi watched the scene unfold; a deep silence flowed through his chest. For him, it was both an outcry and a prayer. The silence dwelling in destruction was the expression of his tangled feelings.
From childhood, Rafi had found refuge only in silence. The clamor of children playing in Gaza’s dusty alleys, the thunder of airstrikes—these had only wounded him more deeply. In a rundown corner of Gaza, the small Rafi leaned against a wall. When the roar of bombardment receded, the brief stillness was a salvation.
His mother’s tears, his father’s anger—the chaos of it all—the boy sought only a place without sound. He fled inward to a world without noise.
Tinkering with the innards of a broken radio with small hands, Rafi first understood the relation between destruction and quiet. A ruined radio, after it lost its sound, simply remained there in material form, silently.
As he grew, his inner life knotted into complexity. He studied architecture at the Islamic University to make shapes and manipulate structures as a way to steady the disorder within him. Even the days bent over blueprints failed to soothe the quiet madness hidden under his skin. When he faced a building plan, his hands trembled; in his head the calculated beauty of structure mixed with the cool cruelty of demolition.
Then he found a method to produce the silence he had once sought: planting bombs.
For him, it was the only way to externalize his pain. The C4 placed silently at a building’s core crystallized the intersection of his desire to destroy and his thirst for silence. Israel’s attacks on Gaza had stoked his rage, but the true explosion had been nurtured in the quiet of his childhood. For Rafi, releasing explosives without sound was a ritual of severing himself from the world’s noise.
Rafi’s heart could find rest only in the stillness of destruction; he was trapped in a darkness no one noticed.
Without sound, unnoticed by anyone, he broke his world and obtained silence.
And no one knew that his cry was hidden within that quiet destruction.
Construction of Columbia Point Residences had begun in 2024. The three collapsed houses had been occupied by staff of the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement—ICE—and its Enforcement and Removal Operations, ERO.
They took off their uniforms, sat at these tables with their families. By day they detained migrants and sent them out of the country; by night they held children on their laps and drank beer.
To Rafi, those two faces were one mask. Smile and cruelty breathed under the same skin. It was almost impossible to discern the boundary. He had seen the light in those houses many nights—the silhouettes at dinner through the curtains, laughter. There were no faces of the detained among them.
Each night Rafi never missed the five prayers. His fingertips turned sacred pages of the Qur’an; Arabic verses rang in his heart. “True strength lies in patience; vengeance is entrusted to God”—that phrase steadied him, lending calm. His anger was forbidden to flare; it lived quietly inside.
Recent news repeated the same refrain daily—“a million deported annually,” “military bases converted to detention centers,” “raids even on pending family applications”—numbers passing through the broadcast with a dry sound. But behind those numbers were names: his mother’s name, his sister’s name, the old man next door. Those names did not run on the news; they had no voice.
Rafi thought: this is not policy but selection—sorting who to keep and who to cast aside on sheets of paper. His faith taught mercy and justice, yet the world trampled those teachings. “God is the judge; we are only witnesses”—he repeated in his heart, while refusing to look away.
People in the city sought ways to lighten their lives. Yet tariff hikes made the very air heavy. Bread, nails, gasoline rose in price; sighs filled the shopping streets. Oddly, ICE and ERO garages always housed new vehicles; uniforms looked uncreased and shoes had thick soles. It was the result of budget and protection, the payoff for casting others aside.
Rafi kept calm. To erupt in emotion was to feed the enemy’s desire. So he hid his anger. The fire burning within him was tended like a vow to God—silent and steady.
Stories of neighbors taken in the night, a child crying as someone was seized—each one settled into him and became fuel. But it never flared. It only fed the coals and raised the burn temperature. From the outside, he seemed a gentle man. Inside, however, a balanced plan of destruction was quietly taking shape.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
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
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – 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.
九月の海辺。
( iPhone 13 pro shot )
本須賀海岸。九十九里浜。山武市。千葉県。日本。2025. … 1 / 1
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
ELLEGARDEN … The End Of The World（歌詞、和訳付き）
youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=3dlYv3ccvIMJwnjj
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第17弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
ニューヨーク港を南に望むレッドフックの埠頭に近い、古い倉庫街を開発したコロンビア・ポイント・レジデンシズは、北側にウィリアムズバークの商業・アート地区を背にし、その間の埋立地を再造成した、低層戸建て中心の静かな新興住宅街だ。
新しく舗装された道には、子供たちの笑い声がこだまし、午後の柔らかな陽射しが屋根の瓦や白壁の外壁を優しく照らしている。風は海からの冷たい香りを運び、港湾の遠くで聞こえる船の汽笛が静けさにアクセントを加えた。
住民たちは日常の喧騒から離れ、ここに新たな生活の基盤を築いている。
午後３時の陽射しは、まだ柔らかく街路樹の葉を黄金色に染めていた。
マリナーズ・ロウの新興住宅街は、まるで計算されたように完璧な整列を見せている。白壁の戸建てが並び、まっすぐな歩道が両脇に伸びる。新築の香りと、まだ新しいペンキの匂いが微かに漂っていた。
マーク・サンチェスはリビングの大きな窓から外を眺めながら、家族の幸せな未来を思い描いていた。
彼が属するEROは、ICEを構成する２部門のうちのひとつ、HSIの国際犯罪捜査に比べ、EROの移民の強制執行や送還を行う現場部隊で培った厳しい現実もあったが、ここではただの父親であり夫だった。
レイチェルはキッチンで夕食の準備を始めている。子供たちの声が、遠くのスクールバス停から聞こえてきた。
ー 穏やかだ。日曜日の午後３時に、人生は集約されているかもしれない ー
彼は胸のうちでそうつぶやいた。
午後の光は徐々に斜めになり、窓ガラスに映る影が伸びていく。住宅街の通りでは犬の散歩をする老人が一人、手押し車を押しながらゆっくり歩いていた。子供たちの笑い声が交差するその風景は、穏やかで無垢な世界の象徴のようだった。
家の中では子供たちが遊びに夢中になり、レイチェルがにこやかに声をかけている。外の空気は穏やかで、風はわずかに暖かく、揺れるカーテンが優しく靡いていた。
マークは玄関のドアを開け、郵便受けを確認する。ポストには新しい学校の案内と地域の防災訓練のお知らせが入っていた。
午後三時、秒針がゆっくりと動く中、静寂が深まっていった。
家の中心、基礎のコンクリートのすぐ脇が微かに揺れた。
午後の静けさの中、遠くからは港湾の汽笛と、風に揺れる街路樹の葉擦れの音が響いていた。それらの環境音が、わずかな爆破音をかき消し、周囲の住民が気づくことはなかった。煙はゆっくりと立ち上り、爆発の瞬間に生まれる激しい炎はなく、ただ細かな粉塵が静かに空気を満たした。倒壊は一気ではなく、ゆっくりと、しかし確実に進んだ。外壁の一部が静かに亀裂を生み、ガラスは微細に震えながら割れていく。木製の柱が一本、また一本と音もなく倒れ、家全体が内側から崩れていく様は、まるで静かな舞踏のようだった。爆薬はわずかな衝撃で連鎖反応を起こし、家の構造を静かに、しかし確実に破壊していく。外壁は音もなく割れ、ガラスは粉々になり、木製の柱が倒れ始めた。
しかし、騒音は極力抑えられ、周囲の住民たちは何が起きたのか気づきにくいほどだ。
遠くで小さく崩れ落ちる建物のシルエットがあった。マークの家屋だけでなく、通りを挟んで３００mほど先の青い家、そして、そこからさらに奥へ進んだ白い家から砂埃が舞い上がった。
3軒の家が瞬時に消えた。
風が一瞬止み、街路樹の葉が揺れる音だけが響く。
マリナーズ・ロウの午後は、再び何事もなかったかのように静けさを取り戻した。
しかし、すべては変わってしまったのだ。
基礎のコンクリートに小分けしたC4を複数箇所に埋め込み、微細なタイミングで順序良く起爆させることで、衝撃波を最小限に抑えつつ構造の骨組みを内側から崩していく。
ラフィの建築学の知識が、単なる破壊ではなく「静かなる崩壊」を可能にしていた。
「必要な力だけを使う」——それが彼の信念だった。
ラフィは遠くの建物の屋上からその光景を見つめ、胸に深い静寂が流れた。彼にとって、それは叫びでもあり、祈りでもあった。破壊の中に宿る静寂こそが、彼の複雑な感情の表現だったのだ。
ラフィは幼いころから、静寂の中にしか安らぎを見いだせなかった。
ガザの埃っぽい路地裏で遊ぶ子供たちの喧騒も、爆撃の轟音も、彼の心を深く傷つけるだけだった。廃れたガザの街角で、幼いラフィは静かに壁にもたれかかっていた。爆撃の轟音が遠ざかる瞬間、その静寂は彼にとって一瞬の救いだった。
母の涙、父の怒り、そのすべてが混ざり合う騒乱の中で、彼はただ「音のない場所」を求めていた。彼は音のない世界へと逃げ込んだ。
小さな手で壊れかけたラジオの中身をいじりながら、ラフィは初めて「破壊」と「静けさ」の関係に気づいた。壊れたラジオは、音を失った後に、ただ静かにそこに物質としての形状を保っていた。
成長するにつれ、彼の内面は複雑に絡み合った。
イスラム大学の建築学部に進んだのは、形を作り、構造を操ることで、彼の心の乱れを制御しようとしたからだ。大学で建築を学ぶ日々も、彼の心の奥底に潜む静かな狂気を癒すには足りなかった。建物の設計図に向き合うとき、彼の指先は震え、頭の中で計算される構造の美しさと破壊の冷徹さが入り混じった。
そして彼は、かつて自分が求めた静寂を「作り出す」方法を見つけた。
爆弾を仕掛けること。
それは彼にとって、自分の痛みを外に放つ唯一の手段だった。
建物の中心に静かに仕掛けられたC4は、彼の「破壊への欲求」と「静寂への渇望」が交錯した結晶だった。イスラエルによるガザ攻撃は彼の憎悪を燃え上がらせたが、真の爆発は幼少期の沈黙の中でじわじわと育まれていた。彼にとって、爆薬を音もなく解き放つ行為は、世界の騒音から自分自身を切り離す儀式だったのだ。
ラフィの心は、破壊の静けさの中にしか安息を見出せず、誰も気づかない闇に囚われていた。
音もなく、誰にも気づかれずに、彼は自らの世界を破壊し、静寂を手に入れる。
そしてその静かな破壊の中に、彼の叫びが隠されていることを、誰も知らなかった。
コロンビア・ポイント・レジデンシズは、２０２４年に工事の着工が始まった。崩壊した三棟に住んでいたのは、米国移民税関取締局のICEとその強制退去執行部門であるEROの職員たちだった。
彼らは制服を脱ぎ、この家で家族と食卓を囲む。昼間、移民を拘束し、国外へ送る彼らが、夜には子どもを膝に抱き、ビールを飲む。
ラフィには、その二つの顔がひとつの仮面にしか見えなかった。微笑みと冷酷が、同じ皮膚の下で息をしている。その境目を見極めることは、ほとんど不可能だった。彼は何度も、職員たちの家に灯る明かりを見た。カーテン越しに見える食卓の影、笑い声。そこには、拘束された者たちの顔はひとつもなかった。
ラフィは毎夜、沈黙のなかで五回の礼拝を欠かさなかった。彼の指先は厳かにクルアーンのページをめくり、アラビア語の詩句が心に響いた。
「真の強さは忍耐にあり、復讐は神の手に委ねられる」—その言葉が彼を支え、冷静さを与えた。
怒りは熱く燃え上がることを許されず、静かに内側で息づいていた。
最近のニュースは、毎日が同じ旋律を繰り返していた。
ー 「年間百万人送還」「軍事基地を収容所に転用」「家族申請中でも摘発」 ー
数字は乾いた音を立ててニュースの中を流れていく。
だが、その数字の裏側には名前があった。母の名、妹の名、隣に住んでいた老人の名。それらはニュースには載らず、声にもならなかった。
ラフィは思った。これは政策ではなく、選別だ。残す者と捨てる者を、書類の上で振り分ける作業だ。
彼の信仰は慈悲と正義を説く。だが今の世界は、その教えを踏みにじっていた。
「神は審判者、我らはただ証人」 — 彼は心の中で繰り返しながらも、見過ごすことを拒んだ。
街では誰もが生活を軽くする方法を探していた。だが、関税の引き上げは空気までも重くした。パンも、釘も、ガソリンも値を上げ、ため息が商店街を満たした。
不思議なことに、ICEやEROの車庫にはいつも新しい車が並んでいた。制服は新品のように皺ひとつなく、靴底は厚かった。それは予算と保護の結果であり、他者を切り捨てた見返りでもあった。
ラフィは冷静だった。
感情を爆発させるのは、敵の望むところだ。だから彼は、怒りを表には出さなかった。彼の内に燃える火は、神にささげる誓いのように、静かに、確実に燃え続けていた。
夜中に連れ去られた隣人の話。拘束の最中に子どもが泣き叫ぶ声。その一つ一つが、彼の胸の奥で沈殿し、火種になった。
しかし、決して燃え上がることはない。ただ、確実に燃料をくべ、燃焼温度を上げていく。外から見れば、彼は穏やかな男だった。
だが、内側では均衡の取れた破壊の計画が静かに形を成していた。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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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...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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The Earth’s rotation pulls the dark shroud of deepening evening ever closer on the eastern horizon as the lower reaches of the canyon begin to bathe in shadows, washing away the bright grit of day, Lipan Point, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona.
Behind me, a couple got engaged. A man pulled out a ring just before the sun winked over the western horizon, its rays sending golden waves of blessing into an unknown future. A woman, beaming, hoping, radiant in the dying light. My sons, wife, and dogs not far away, together for a few weeks. The majesty of the canyon singing gutturally with its full throat into the gloaming. And me, wishing once more to somehow preserve all of this, forever.
At twilight, at dusk, White Pocket takes on a life of its own as the colors deepen, the landscape softens, and a dreamlike quality settles over the quiet of the desert.
South Plateau, Montana/Idaho Border
The forested trails south of West Yellowstone, Montana offer good snowmobiling. As the service roads wind upward on this plateau bordering the park, the snow deepens. The powder changes consistency up here around 7500 feet. Everything is encapsulated, snow blasted and wind hardened. The woods I was taking for granted visibly change: every tree, every bough, even the needles stand in sharp relief against each other, the entire forest a subject that stands out. They bear their burden stoically, and I am surprised that, in this little meadow, I feel a peace more commonly found on a summer's day. I let the silence wash over me for a while. When the wind picks up and the temperatures drop after sundown, it will be different. But in the soft light of a winter afternoon, maybe this white forest is not such a harsh beauty after all.
An old boat in need of repair gazes out wistfully at the deepening light at end of day. White's Marina, New Hamburg, NY.
DSC08343adj-rs /--
“Contemplative prayer is a deepening of faith that moves beyond thoughts and concepts. One just listens to God, open and receptive to the divine presence in one’s inmost being as its source. One listens not with a view to hearing something, but with a view to becoming aware of the obstacles to one’s friendship with God.”
- Thomas Keating, The Human Condition: Contemplation and Transformation
These carved stones come with interesting titles. They are (from left to right) Deepening Knowledge (1969), Human Sacrifice (1984), Brilliance (1982), and Venus (1980).
This stark setting seems less like a museum show space and more like a factory floor. Perhaps it's the trees and natural light in the corner but it tends to grow on you. These Noguchi sculptures seem right at home.