There was interesting contrasting light at Beeston Weir on 9th January 2021, with the first rays of the early morning sun illuminating the rising steam emanating from Ratcliffe Power Station. There might not be many years before this kind of scene will be a thing of the past, with the closure of the power station expected to be somewhere around 2024-25.

A Baja sunrise over the Sea of Cortez is a visual treat. The early morning glow emanates a range of soft hues of orange and gold with a beautiful array of blues, going from light blue on the horizon to a deep blue in the upper sky. The air is still and peaceful, filled with the sounds of waking seabirds and gentle waves. It’s the ideal time for quiet reflection and photography.

Parc Frédéric-Back, St-Michel, Montréal

The impressive Tymphe mountain range, as seen from one of its lower peaks.

Noticeable is the Dragon - lake, an everlasting lake whose water emanates from deep inside the earth and the snow melting during the hot season.

The peak of the Tymphe mountain range is seen on the far left, shaded under the clouds and is called Gamila (2497m).

All part of the main "spinal" mountain range of northern Greece, Pindus.

Also to be seen the Vasilitsa mountain on the far left and Astraka peak hiding on the rear to the back of the frame.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the heart of an enchanted forest, there lived a rare and magical creature named Liora, a hybrid luna moth. Her wings shimmered with ethereal light, reflecting the phases of the moon. She fluttered gracefully through the forest, casting a soft glow that illuminated the dark corners of the woods.

One twilight evening, as the moon began to rise, Liora ventured deeper into the forest than ever before. She was drawn by a faint, warm glow emanating from a secluded glade. Curiosity piqued, she fluttered towards the light, her delicate wings whispering against the night air.

As Liora entered the glade, she was greeted by the sight of a tiny dragon, no bigger than a cat. His scales glistened with a myriad of colors, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief. The dragon’s name was Ember, and he was a young, playful creature who loved exploring the forest.

Liora hovered in the air, her luminescent wings casting a gentle light around them. Ember looked up, his eyes widening in awe at the sight of the beautiful moth. "Hello," he said in a voice as soft as a breeze. "I've never seen a creature like you before."

Liora landed gracefully on a nearby flower, her wings folding delicately. "I am Liora," she said, her voice melodic and soothing. "I am a luna moth, but not an ordinary one. I am enchanted by the moon's magic."

Ember's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I am Ember, a dragon of fire and light. I can breathe tiny flames and create sparks with my tail." He wagged his tail, and a shower of golden sparks danced in the air.

Liora watched the sparks with delight. "What a wondrous gift you have, Ember. The night and the moon are my companions, and your light brings warmth to the darkness."

They spent the night sharing stories and exploring the forest together. Ember showed Liora the hidden paths and secret groves, while Liora illuminated the way with her radiant wings. As the first light of dawn began to creep into the sky, they returned to the glade, their friendship forged under the magical light of the moon and stars.

From that night on, the enchanted forest was filled with the light of their friendship, as Liora and Ember continued their adventures, discovering the wonders of their world together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Composed using AI with my thoughts

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BeSpoke Bento Mesh Head Moth Luna (cerulean beetle applier)

Maitreya Lara Bento Mesh Body

!dM Samira Ensemble (coin belt, dancer bra, Hair ornament, ornament bottoms, bra & chains, silk tails

Insect wings by Vaengi

SEmotion Libellune Beautiful Dragon #7

POSE: Genevieve 2 by Serendipity

SIM: Lost Unicorn @ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Lost%20Unicorn/48/42/26

Macro Mondays #Decay

7DWF: Anything Goes

Width of the frame: 6,5 cm / 2,5 inches

Thanks for the slighty modified title, H. Roebke ;-) My original title was "The Way of All Flesh"

Poor tomato, I had forgotten to put it into the fridge (I usually never store tomatoes in the fridge, but this was a little bruised already), and it looked like this the next morning. I still tried to make it look attractive, despite the clearly visible traces of decay. I even let the tomato rot until the next day, but it didn't look presentable anymore at all at that stage, it was beginning to moulder and - no. I spare you the details ;-). Actually I wanted an all black background, because my idea was to make this look like a part of a painted still life of, say, Renaissance or Baroque days, but when I saw these tiny white "sparkles" from the glitter foamsheet I'd used as black background (both black cardboard or the backside of the foamsheet looked too dull as backdrop), they sort of reminded me of spores emanating from this poor, rotting tomato. I still had a matte, yet slightly more dramatic look in mind, so I processed it, among others (ON1 Photo RAW, for instance, to bring out every ghastly detail; gosh, that thing is hairy!), in Analog Efex, where I added a Film Effect ("Subtle") and a dark vignette. I then added the new "matte" preset in LR as a finishing touch. I used the Oly's in-camera focus stacking function, which worked really great for the tomato, but not for the equally stacked background, so I used the background from one of the single shots.

A Happy Macro Monday, Everyone!

Der Weg alles Frischen

Vielen Dank, lieber H. Roebke, für die Anregung zur kleinen Titeländerung (ursprünglich war das mal "Der Weg allen Fleisches"), ist viel "chalmantel" so ;-)

Hier blutete (mir) sprichwörtlich das (Ochsen-)herz. Einmal vergessen, diese bereits leicht angeschlagene, "angedötschte" Tomate am Abend in den Kühlschrank zu legen, gab sie sich am nächsten Morgen bereits unter anderem den Verlockungen der Schwerkraft hin. Ich wollte aber trotzdem, dass es noch ein angenehm anzuschauendes Foto wird. Mir schwebte ein matter, an ein altes (Renaissance- oder Barock-) Stillleben erinnernder Look vor. Eigentlich wollte ich dafür auch einen tiefschwarzen Hintergrund haben, fand aber, dass die wenigen, kleinen Glitzerpartikel des Moosgummis hier ein wenig wie (Pilz-)Sporen anmuten. Warum ich nicht gleich schwarzes Papier oder die Rückseite des Moosgummis, sondern dessen super-glitzernde Vorderseite als Hintergrund genommen habe? Beides sieht (so ungemein professionell von meinen Ikea-LEDs und der Taschenlampe) angestrahlt sehr dröge aus, von tiefem, sattem Schwarz ganz zu schweigen. Ich hatte die Tomate, nachdem ich das Foto eigentlich schon fertig hatte, auch noch bis zum nächsten Tag im kuschelig warmen Wohnzimmer liegen lassen, für evtl. ein weiteres, noch mehr "Decay"-mäßiges Foto, aber da sah sie dann wirklich nicht mehr vorzeigbar aus. Ich habe wieder die Kamera-interne Fokus-Stacking-Funktion verwendet. Den Hintergrund musste ich deshalb aus einem der Einzelfotos nehmen, weil er zusammengesetzt nicht mehr schön aussah, ganz anders als die Tomate, die mir die Oly so schön scharf und ohne jegliche Artefakte/Halos hingezaubert hat, wie ich es mit manuellem Fokus Stacking gar nicht hinbekommen hätte.

Ich wünsche Euch eine schöne Woche, Ihr Lieben!

Yet another rippled image from yet another photo of electrical conduit pipes.

Los había en el Jardín Botánico de todos los colores …el tamaño era el mismo. Yo he visto el silvestre .magnifico y difícil de encontrar- y el tamaño es menor. Lo pasé bien entre flores .

That in your path you reflect

Angiopteris evecta is a very large fern found in parts of Southeast Asia and the western Pacific. It is naturalised in Hawaii, Jamaica, Costa Rica and Cuba. Common names in English include King fern, Giant fern, Elephant fern, Oriental Vessel fern, Madagascar tree fern, and Mule's Foot fern. Angiopteris evecta is a self-supporting evergreen perennial fern with very large bipinnate fronds. The massive trunk-like rhizome grows vertically up to 1.2 m high by 1 m wide. The arching, glossy green fronds, which emanate from the top of the trunk, may reach up to 2.5 m wide and 9 m long, with the fleshy green petiole (leaf stem) making up 2 m of that length. They are said to be the longest fern fronds in the world. Angiopteris evecta is native to southeast Asia, from Singapore through Indonesia, Papua New Guinea and Australia to Melanesia, Micronesia and Polynesia. It has been introduced to most of the rest of tropical Asia, as well as Madagascar and parts of the tropical Americas. 22409

~ Grimhildr ~

Under the flickering light of Rungardvik’s Witchcraft Pavilion, the old witch stands before its altar, carved from blackened stone and etched with runes of forgotten power. She scatters some raven feathers around, their blackness swirling in hypnotic patterns. With a practiced motion, she sprinkles the shimmering stardust, igniting the candles with a soft, otherworldly glow.

Her voice rises in a deep melodic chant:

"Stone of night and whispered fears,

Keeper of secrets through countless years.

Awake the paths the veils conceal,

And let the hidden be revealed."

The feathers begin to stir, lifted by an unseen breeze, as the stardust forms glittering constellations in midair.

"Spirits bound to wind and tide,

Through the runes, let truth confide.

Shroud the path that must not show,

Reveal the one the fates bestow."

The air thickens, alive with energy, as tendrils of glowing mist rise from the altar, winding their way through the pavilion. Whispers seem to emanate from the mist, echoing Grimhildr’s chant in tongues both familiar and strange.

The spell ends in a final shimmer of light, leaving behind an air of mystery and a promise of truths yet uncovered—or shadows yet to be born. Grimhildr steps back, her eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of her craft, as the ancient altar falls silent once more.

Knowlton Church dates back to the 12th century and is reputed to be the most haunted location in Dorset, if not the country. Sacred standing stones, which had been on the site for centuries before, were broken up in order to build the church.

The local population was decimated by the black death in the 15th century and when the roof collapsed in the 18th century the church ceased to be used. Paranormal investigations have taken place in the church and for those interested, there is an easy to find web site dedicated to such things. It sent a shiver down my spine when I read about Knowlton.

The church is seen in its natural colouring while the surrounding area has been desaturated. What looks a little spooky to me is the effect of the long exposure on the clouds. It makes it look suspiciously like something other worldly is emanating from the Tower.

An excellent site for some night time astro photography but I’m thinking I might give some other places a go first!

Thanks as always for your interest and support.

As I stand before the watercolor painting created using digital tools using one of my own pictures as model, I am instantly transported to the quaint and picturesque streets of Brugge, Belgium. The artist's skillful brushstrokes have beautifully captured the essence of this historic city, and my eyes are drawn to a particular scene in the heart of the old town.

In the center of the painting, nestled among cobblestone streets and surrounded by charming modern buildings, stands a remarkably old house. Its weathered facade exudes a sense of history, revealing the passage of time etched onto its walls. The centuries have gently worn away its vibrant colors, leaving behind a muted palette of soft pastels, harmonizing with the surrounding architecture.

The house, once a residence of the past, has undergone a remarkable transformation. It has been lovingly repurposed into a chocolate store, its purpose changed, but its soul preserved. Windows adorn the ground floor, proudly displaying the mouthwatering creations within.

Through the windows, I catch glimpses of the delightful confections that await inside. Rows of handmade chocolates, elegantly arranged and tempting passersby, create a mesmerizing display. The store's interior seems to emanate a warm glow, inviting visitors to step inside and experience the enchantment within.

The artist's attention to detail is truly remarkable. They have skillfully captured the intricate architectural features of the old house. The steeply pitched roof, adorned with weathered tiles, adds character and charm.

The painting depicts a bustling scene around the chocolate store. Tourists and locals alike pause to admire the old house-turned-store, their faces alive with wonder and anticipation. The sound of laughter and conversation drifts through the air, mingling with the aromas of chocolate and the soft melody of distant church bells.

As I continue to gaze at the watercolor painting, I am filled with a sense of nostalgia and wonder. It encapsulates the essence of Brugge—the harmonious blend of history and modernity, the preservation of heritage in the face of changing times. It reminds me of the beauty that can emerge when the past and present come together, transforming a once-forgotten house into a sanctuary of chocolate delights in the heart of a city that holds its memories dear.

20220609_RX_05195_BRUJAS

Some may wonder if there are magical places. Places from which a special energy field emanates, one that some people can even sense. As a photographer, I believe that such places can be recognized. This is one such place: an ancient forest, untouched, on one of the highest mountains in the Eifel highlands in Germany. To answer the question, my recommendation is: simply go out with your camera and let your feelings guide you. In any case, after this photo tour, my batteries were fully recharged.

Steam emanating from U717’s taconite loads tucked in at N. Kelsey accentuates the headlights on intermodal Q117 making its way north to Vancouver, B.C. on the Missabe Sub.

In mathematics, a spiral is a curve which emanates from a point, moving farther away as it revolves around the point. The Fibonacci spiral is a set of numbers that starts with a one or a zero, followed by a one, and proceeds based on the rule that each number (called a Fibonacci number) is equal to the sum of the preceding two numbers. Our Life Force Energy, known as Kundalini, is a Spiral that flows from the base of our spine. It represents God/Goddess, Life, Energy and Evolving Journey. The Spiral is found in human physiology, animals, plants and minerals in nature as well as weather patterns. These spirals are for eating!

In ABCs and 123s: two cauliflours

Fotos Encadenadas:

ant. dos iguales

sig. espirales

A stupa is a symbol of enlightenment and is one of the most ancient icons of Buddhist art. Stupas are also the oldest and most prevalent forms of Buddhist architecture. More than just being examples of art and architecture, these holy monuments were designed with deep symbolism and sacred geometry. Filled with Buddhist relics, and other holy objects, stupas emanate blessings and peace.

A stupa is the most sacred monument found in all of the ancient Buddhist countries. Unique amongst all forms of sacred architecture, it is the quintessential symbol of enlightenment. Stupas are filled with sacred images, mantras and the relics of holy beings. The foundation, symmetry, orientation and contents of the stupa create incredible power to those who even look upon it. It has the potential to transcend the limitations of language to activate enlightened knowledge.

www.peacestupa.org/what_is_a_stupa.htm

A kingdom has fallen,

The battle seems lost,

All faith has been robbed

Over a doomed

Horizon.

Oh! Where is Hope,

Where is the Calm,

Where is that Peace so free

We could not keep from

Fleeing into the

Horizon?

But where there is defeat,

There is a Victory.

Where there is despair and doubt,

There is a Hope, an Assurance.

It towers, it emanates there,

Far away, where the Dawn is made,

Where only He can see,

The Horizon.

____________________________________

Hey guys, happy Labor day to y'all!

I wish all of you a great weekend, and heads up, eyes peeled, Uncle Jesse gots some WWII up his sleeve. ;D

God bless!

Jesse

Continuing my Astro Projection series...

Witnessed a marvelous sunset the other day and ought to have my out-of-body-and-lens experience on Toronto cityscapes... My camera recorded this light emanations moving through the city...

...all brought to you by my manual zoom / long exposure magic! :-)

*It's a SOOC image, manual zooming during long exposure - no processing involved!

The green cast in areas of light in the previous shot emanates from these windows at the main entrance of the Rosebank Mall shopping centre. Of the pics I took of this façade, I chose this one simply because it shows some of the other participants on the Nikon / Kameraz Photowalk. Kameraz is a photo retailer located in this centre and was a co-sponsor of this event.

Lilacs season is in full bloom and the scent they emanate is just priceless, no one can imitate it.

"Appreciate the real product and don't get fooled by imitations...".

Emanations

Le village de Saint-Chély-Du-Tarn se trouve sur la commune de Sainte-Enimie en Lozère.

Ce petit village niché dans un coude des gorges du Tarn est d'une exceptionnelle beauté.

Situé sur la rive gauche du Tarn, l'accès au village se fait par un petit tunnel puis par un grand pont élégant à une seule arche construit entre 1880 et 1900.

On arrive ainsi au village à l’allure féérique : le village surplombe la rivière aux reflets émeraudes tandis que deux cascades surgissent d’entre les maisons et s’y jettent près de la plage réputée chez les baigneurs.

Ces deux résurgences, une traversant le village en formant un ruisseau et la seconde s'échappant d'une grotte, tombent toutes deux en cascades dans le tarn et lui donnent un charme inégalé.

Ce n’est pas pour rien que le village est réputé comme étant un des plus beaux villages des Gorges du Tarn.

L'eau y est omniprésente, grâce aux sources et aux canaux qui viennent se jeter dans le Tarn, en formant de grandes cascades.

Son charme réside aussi dans ses petites ruelles tortueuses, ses maisons en pierre étroitement mêlées, et le calme serein qui se dégage de l'ensemble.

Son église romane, sa chapelle semi-troglodytique, son moulin et ses ruelles vous invitent à faire une halte.

En saison estivale la découverte du village se fait en soirée, agrémentée d'un son et lumières qui mettent en valeur la beauté du cirque merveilleux aux gigantesques falaises.

The village of Saint-Chély-Du-Tarn is located in the commune of Sainte-Enimie in Lozère.

This small village nestled in a bend of the Tarn Gorges is of exceptional beauty.

Located on the left bank of the Tarn, access to the village is via a small tunnel and then a large, elegant single-arch bridge built between 1880 and 1900.

This leads to the magical-looking village: the village overlooks the emerald-coloured river while two waterfalls emerge from between the houses and flow into it near the beach, which is popular with swimmers. These two resurgences, one crossing the village forming a stream and the second escaping from a cave, both cascade into the Tarn and give it an unrivalled charm.

It is not for nothing that the village is renowned as one of the most beautiful villages in the Tarn Gorges.

Water is omnipresent, thanks to the springs and canals that flow into the Tarn, forming large waterfalls.

Its charm also lies in its small winding streets, its closely interwoven stone houses, and the serene calm that emanates from the whole.

Its Romanesque church, its semi-troglodyte chapel, its mill and its alleys invite you to stop.

In the summer season, the discovery of the village takes place in the evening, embellished with a sound and light show that highlights the beauty of the marvelous cirque with gigantic cliffs.

_5D43473 76 HDR

...an image of the old cobblestone streets in the historic district of New Bedford...a very quiet and cold night...

...the sound emanating from a passing vehicle over these cobblestones is truly unique...because of the type of stone used...a cobble, a stone that has been rounded by the slow erosion of water...

...in order to enhance the beauty of this shot, i added a bit of temperature and clarity...

- New Bedford, MA

(english follow)

Cette scène, c’est chez moi, à moins de 30 mètres de ma maison. La photo a été prise par un matin de brouillard glacé, à partir du lac Louise dans la chaîne de montagnes Laurentides au Québec. C’est un endroit magique que j’aime, un endroit de grande nature formé de lacs, de rivières et de montagnes d’où semble émaner une musique naturelle, vieille comme le monde. Les gens qui habitent Montréal (100 km plus au sud) appellent affectueusement cette région « Le Nord ». Voici mon chant du Nord ….

(Patrice)

—————-

This scene… it’s my home, less than 30 meters from my house. The photo was taken by a cold and foggy morning, from Lake Louise towards the Laurentians Mountains in Quebec. It is a magical place I love, a place of wilderness formed of lakes, rivers and mountains from which seems to emanate a natural music, old as the world. People who live in Montreal (100 km further south) affectionately call this region "the North". Here is my Northern song….

(Patrice)

Interacting galaxies, some noise in this picture, but the feint streamers being gravitationally stripped from the small galaxy can be seen. The small galaxy is being disrupted by the larger galaxy in passing. Image details,-

Canon 760D plus 1.4 converter.(stock camera)

SW MN190 Telescope

SW NEQ6 mount unguided

133 subs @ ISO 3200/ 6400, 2h 13M exposure time.

Stacked in DSS, post processing in Lightroom and Canon DDP.

The latest version of Deep Sky Stacker has done an excellent job of this image.

I have to say the telescope (MN190) does not perform well at high power, with my 1.4x converter. Took me a while to realise the moisture in the atmosphere effects its performance at high power. I check the stars in each image at 100x ,(ok that`s pushing it ), (but they do say its like a 8 inch APO!! yeah!.) On damp nights the stars become more bloated and fuzzy, and sometimes a shadow over the star, I found this hard to correct with fine focusing. No such problem with converter removed. I guess slight misting of the glass is causing the problem, hair drier to the rescue. Any way after lots of labour I managed to get this fairly clean image, but I had to be very selective of the stars in the subs, if they started to bloat, they were thrown out, after viewing at 25x 50x and 100x. The resulting picture the stars don`t look to bad and made a nice pic of the galaxy. Any good advice is welcome, thanks for viewing.

This is my best photo from 2020, it involved a lot of work to acquire the final image, using stock camera and processing software, no photoshop or narrowband techniques were used and no broadband or narrowband filters were used and the images were unguided.

An interesting technique of viewing feint detail can be used on the image. The feint streamers emanating from the smaller galaxy can be seen better with slightly averted vision, that is look slightly left or right of the feint gas and you will see it better than looking directly at it, see if it works for you.

Les rues d'Alençon, comme de nombreuses rues de nombreuses villes, ont leur respiration, leur fraîcheur, leurs coups de chaud, leur respiration...

En voici un exemple...

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Mary's Shell is a wonderful art sculpture located on the beach in Cleveleys. High tide was due at 3.35am which allowed me plenty of time to set up at 2am and wait for the incoming tide to surround the base of the sculpture.

I experimented with various compositions and shutter speeds ranging from just two seconds to thirty. The lovely warm glow of the lights to my left emanated from the street lights but I do not mind the inclusion of the light pollution for it helps to give the sky a lovely warmth about it.

.

.

Canon EOS R

Canon EF 16-35mm f4 @ 35mm

f6.3

30"

ISO500

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There had been reports from the birding community here that there was a Common Pheasant in the wooded area of the lakeshore where I often walk.

I had forgotten about those reports as I took my walk there this evening, but to my delight I heard an unusual bird calling emanating from behind a large tree. Instantly I knew it was the Pheasant they had been talking about.

To my delight, the bird came into view and allowed me to fire off quite a few shots without running off. It wasn't skittish at all, making me wonder if it was acclimated to humans.

It eventually wandered into the deep, dry grasses on a hill and disappeared from view.

My heart was content as I walked home, thankful to that bird for the experience of interacting with it...

I believe this is a male Common Pheasant.

Enjoy!

Second in this Pheasant Series...

There had been reports from the birding community here that there was a Common Pheasant in the wooded area of the lakeshore where I often walk.

I had forgotten about those reports as I took my walk there in the evening, but to my delight I heard an unusual bird calling emanating from behind a large tree. Instantly I knew it was the Pheasant they had been talking about.

To my delight, the bird came into view and allowed me to fire off quite a few shots without running off. It wasn't skittish at all, making me wonder if it was acclimated to humans.

It eventually wandered into the deep, dry grasses on a hill and disappeared from view.

My heart was content as I walked home, thankful to that bird for the experience of interacting with it...

I believe this is a male Common Pheasant.

Enjoy!

There are a few underground stations in London that are well worth any photographer's time - the Canary Wharf escalators, the brutalist concrete of the Jubilee line at Westminster station, and there are many more including of course Baker Street. Parts of Baker Street underground station are amongst the oldest station architecture in London, dating back some 150 years. It is one of the original stations of the Metropolitan Railway, the world's first underground railway, opened in 1863.

There is a classic 'Baker Street underground station' shot that most photographers come away with which is of the Metropolitan line platform which is simply beautiful, in an old architecturally crumbling kind of way. This isn't it, obviously. But I was drawn to this composition by it's perfect symmetry and that odd blue glow coming through those windows, emanating from who knows where as both the windows are inside windows.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Mummy avatar, Alpha and Mummy walk animation

Take terror to another level at Second Life!

Become a terrifying mummy, wrapped in dark bandages and with a red glow that emanates from inside. His burning eyes and his disturbing walk make him the perfect costume for parties, relay or simply to stand out in the most spooky season of the year.

To make the avatar look perfect, you need to hide / undress your daily avatar.

Do not hesitate to prove it.

Try DEMO

ArisarisB&W Inworld Store

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/ArisAris/44/136/242

ArisarisB&W Marketplace Store

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See my Primfeed Page

www.primfeed.com/ammy.mcgregor/posts/4686fcc1-fab0-4386-8...

Show garden 909 from the RHS Malvern Spring Show. Designed by Jonas Egger, this garden is inspired by the famous Fabergé eggs but instead of precious stones inside there is plenty of colour from flowers and foliage. As the sculptural egg opens, movement and interest are created by steam and music emanating from the centre of it. The egg opens and closes automatically, and as it opens, music, light, fog and water effects herald the surprise inside and a moment of wonder, as if new life is born. The garden is part of the international exchange programme between RHS Malvern Spring Festival and Moscow Flower Show.

In the gloaming of an age now forlorn, by the sombre lake shrouded in mists that seemed as the very breath of spectres, did the maiden encounter the last of the unicorns. Vast was its form, like unto the ancient oaks of the forest primeval, and yet it bore the mark of impending doom as plainly as the crimson hues of sunset foretell the darkness.

The maiden, whose spirit was touched not by fear but by a solemn wonder, approached the beast, whose silhouette was like a mountain 'gainst the wan light. With a visage pale and eyes that held the fading starlight of eons, the unicorn regarded her, a ponderous sorrow deep within its gaze.

"Fear not, mine approach," it spake, its voice a solemn echo from an age when the earth was young. "But hark, for in mine passing, shadows long banished will, like vengeful spirits, return to walk 'pon the earth once more."

The maiden, steadfast in the face of such foreboding words, placed her hand upon the unicorn's alabaster mane. A single tear, like a diamond, fell from her eye, a silent ode to the end of an era.

As the first blush of dawn did paint the heavens, the unicorn's breath grew shallow, and a profound stillness fell upon the place. Its once resplendent form grew ethereal, and with a final, shuddering breath, it faded from the mortal plane, leaving naught but the darkling air heavy with the scent of wisteria and the echo of an ancient sorrow.

The maiden arose, her countenance now wrought with a grim resolve. In her hand, she found the horn, now a thing of darkness, a remnant of the light that once was. It was cold, and an insidious whisper emanated from it, a whisper that seemed to speak of truths best left unspoken.

With the first rays of sun now obscured by a sudden, unseasonable fog, the maiden returned to her hamlet. Yet upon her arrival, she perceived an unsettling change. The streets, once filled with the gentle clamour of daily toil, lay silent as the grave. The townsfolk wandered as wraiths, their eyes vacant, their words but hollow echoes of their former selves.

In her heart, the maiden knew that the death of the unicorn had heralded the beginning of a darkness most profound. The wisdom it had bequeathed in its final breath was not a boon but a portentous burden. And as she walked through the shadows of her once vibrant village, with the unicorn's horn in her grasp, she understood that she was the bearer of an ancient legacy—now turned to curse, as the darkness it once held at bay enveloped the world in its silent, oppressive pall.

A couple of summers ago, I witnessed the most meaningful ceremony I've ever seen. My friend G married her longtime love. And before I go on... a word about their love.

It's something you can feel when you walk into their house. It emanates... not just from them, but from the house itself... the furniture... the animals... the garden... the bric a brac. Entering that house is like walking into some big yellow-warm sunshine embrace; it is nothing short of palpable. And seeing them together is even more powerful.

These are two people who just so clearly delight in each other's company. Like all of us, they have their share of less than stellar days, but they're strong for each other, they support one another, they complement each other... and, like I said, when you see them together, you can't help but share a little hiccup in your heart... a skip-step of giddiness. In short, if ever two people should be married, G and her love were those two people. And they're both from backgrounds that value marriage; that see it as the highest expression of togetherness.

But there was one more factor at play that made their wedding the specialest occasion. Until that year, they had not had the legal right to marry. Why? Because G and her One True Love are women. To which I say... So fucking what??

Marriage, as I understand it, is all about love and commitment. And no two people were ever more in love or more committed.

And to those who argue same-sex marriage somehow undermines the so-called sanctity of the so-called institution of marriage... I say heterosexual couples... with their soaring divorce rates, and rampant infidelity, and vicious child-custody disputes... are doing that themselves.

Besides. Why should anyone's choice of who to love... or who to marry... be anyone else's business? As long as no one's being victimized, what's the problem?

One of the arguments advanced here in Canada, where same-sex marriage is legal (for the time being, anyway)... is that, if THIS is okay, then what's next? Polygamy?

To which I say... what's the hairy issue with polygamy? If three people (or four or five or whatever) choose to form a legal bond and raise their family collectively... again, as long as no one's being victimized... what is the problem?

Oh, say the critics, but polygamy's tied to child abuse. Uh, right. That's the same thing they say about same-sex unions... based on their ludicrous assumption that all homosexuals are somehow pedophiles, or sex fiends. Ridiculous.

I've heard otherwise rational men say... I'd never go to a gay male doctor.

To which I say.... don't flatter yourself. Just because a man may be in a love with another man, that doesn't mean he's uncontrollably flinging himself at every damned man who walks through the door. I mean... I have a straight male doctor. That means... oooooohhhh.... gasp.... he has sex with women!!!! But that has absolutely nothing to do with him examining me in his professional capacity.

We have a polygamist sect here in British Columbia, and it's under near-constant scrutiny for child abuse. The allegation is that very young girls are married off to men, against their will.

To which I say... if that's the case, it's child abuse, for sure. But it's an entirely separate issue from the marital status of the parents involved.

Sorry if I'm ranting here, but this whole issue gets my knickers in a major twist. I think it's because... as one of those kids who was teased and taunted for simply being who I was... I sort of understand what it must be like to face such senseless discrimination.

We have today, in too many parts of North America, a culture that says... while most other forms of organized hate and discrimination are frowned upon... it's okay to ostracize and mistreat people... solely on the basis of who they love.

It's insane. I mean... I remember when I first encountered boys. There was an instant ZING! From that time on, I pretty much always had a crush on some boy or other and... lucky me... I was part of a majority, so having those feelings was a-okay.

The gay and lesbian people I've talked to had similar experiences somewhere in their lives.... where they felt that overwhelming sense of attraction and excitement and curiosity. But... unlucky them, they were part of a minority, and made to think that what they felt was somehow bad or wrong.

I'm on this topic today because our federal government (recently elected and right wing) is threatening to undo the same-sex marriage law. This is just the latest in a string of reversals that's included:

- killing the nearly-enacted bill that would've decriminalized marijuana

- killing an agreement with aboriginal people that would've finally begun addressing the deplorable conditions many of them live in

- reversing the country's commitment to do its part to address climate change, and

- killing a multi-year agreement with the provinces that would've made child care somewhat more affordable and accessible.

In the government's eyes, child care is bad. I mean, everyone knows mommies should stay home with their babies while daddies work. Climate change is just a bunch of made-up garbage; after all, those scientists are all a bunch of liberals. Aboriginal people... notwithstanding the fact that white people stole their land, stuck them on reserves, legislated away their rights and tore a whole generation of children away from their families and communities... Notwithstanding that, "those people" are just lazy; they just need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. As for marijuana... well, we all know it's FAR more harmful than booze, which government not only endorses but shamelessly profits from. I mean... just look at all the domestic strife, and public brawls, and armed standoffs, and traffic carnage caused by those crazed, violent potheads. And those humsexuals... well. We can't deport them 'cause they're from here (darnit anyway). But we sure as hell owe it to the citizenry to make sure they're denied the most fundamental of human rights... the right to freely love.

I'm sorry if this is a downer but I'm sick at heart for my country today. I fear where we're going and I feel so helpless... watching our common sense progress slip away.

I guess I should just be glad that G and her One True Love are already married... and no one... not even right wing governments... can take what they have away from them.

Fotografía tomada el día 17 de octubre de 2021 en Parque Natural Aguas de Ramón con cámara Nikon D3500

Picture taken on October 17, 2021 in Aguas de Ramón Natural Park with a Nikon D3500 camera

I have always loved this sculpture and the view through its tweezer-like "pincers". I hadn't previously looked up the artist's description and rationale for the sculpture, however. I finally did so the other day...

“Dialogue” is a public art installation created by multidisciplinary artist Florent Cousineau, located on the upper plaza near the Alexandria Bridge in Ottawa.

“The tall, slender silhouette of the work’s two-part structure contrasts with the strong horizontality of its setting. While the pure lines of these sculptural forms create space for multiple interpretations, their arrangement also evokes an exchange between two monumental figures. Their curves entwine in a movement recalling a pair of witnesses, dancers or sentinels leaning on each other for support. Light sources emanating from within the two figures create a fluid, rhythmic dialogue, inviting us to linger.

Dialogue can be seen on the upper plaza near the Alexandra Bridge in Ottawa until 2021.”

Source: www.canada.ca/en/canadian-heritage/services/art-monuments...

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard him say it, but there was no time at which those words seemed more relevant. I’d just arrived back at the campsite after a testing adventure that had taken me to the summit of Britain’s highest mountain and back, Ben Nevis. Five and a bit hours earlier I’d set off, part of a group of five on a grey July Saturday morning. Soft rain and mist wove a dampening conspiracy around us, and long before we were halfway up, the land below had vanished entirely. But it had been today or never for me on this middle instalment of three mountains in three days in the Scottish Highlands. Two of us were much faster than the other three and our brief stops to wait for them were rapidly abandoned so that we could keep on moving and stay warm. At the summit, a huge cornice of grainy snow covered the edge of the deadly north face. We didn’t stay at the top for long, huddling among the stone ruins of an abandoned shelter and taking the obligatory summit selfies. On the way down, the zip on my coat broke, and for the rest of the descent I was dogged by sixty mile per hour rain charged gusts that turned me into a sail and quickly soaked me to the core.

“The only thing that’s waterproof is skin!” said James as he peered grimly into the rain out of what I can only describe as a one man teepee. “Tea? Sausage sandwich?” I gratefully accepted, before trudging off squelchily to the campsite laundry where just about everything I had worn was poured into an industrial sized tumble dryer. Even my rucksack and ahem, yes my passport that had inexplicably been with me on the hike went in as I sat in a chair and gradually felt my senses return. It might have been July, but nobody had remembered to tell the Scottish Highlands.

James was always resourceful on these hiking adventures. The much loved patriarch of a Clydebank family, we first met him on the West Highland Way ten years ago as we hiked the hundred odd miles from Milngavie, just north of Glasgow, to Fort William. A man who seemed bigger in stature than he actually stood, he was one of those people who emanated warmth and humour behind which you could sense was a quiet layer of hidden steel. A man who earned our respect without trying to. He was accompanied by several members of his family, including his daughter Karen, who’d taken it upon herself to watch over us like a guardian angel as we made our way north through some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. Each day we all finished at the same hostel or campsite where we would share stories of our adventures over a pint or three, and by the time we arrived in the streets of Fort William during a torrential downpour, the three of us that had started a week earlier had somehow snowballed into a group of twenty.

There were no beds at Fort William that night. We’d intended to sleep in our tents, but the campsite was flooded. A different year, but it was still July. After a lot of frantic searching, Karen appeared with the rescue plan. Alder and Anna, the young teachers from North Carolina we’d befriended and walked every step of the last two and a half days with, would be smuggled into the long since booked hotel room she and Louise were sharing, while Dave, Tom and I would sneak in with James. If James was at all disgruntled by the fact that he was about to share his long awaited hotel room with three people he’d only met a few days ago, he certainly didn’t show it. Instead, he just grinned and poured the whisky. Such effortless kindness is a rare and special thing. James had it in abundance. And since that first adventure, he’s featured in each of the ones we’ve had in Scotland.

Three years later we did the hike again, this time in a Mediterranean style heatwave. But not in July - this time we were in Scotland in May. And somehow I persuaded Ali to come with me, on what was her first ever trip to Scotland. Once again, there was James, now almost in his seventieth year, always magically producing a hip flask full of single malt at the moment it was most needed. I wondered whether there was a lorry following us - or a boat during the very long section of the trail on the remote east bank of Loch Lomond - topping up his hip flask when the rest of us weren’t watching.

Last summer we were back in Scotland for the first time in five years, invited by Alder and Anna to join them on a long overdue reunion hike along the Great Glen. Afterwards, Ali and I trekked the Rannoch Moor section of the West Highland Way alone. Back in 2018 she’d decided to skip the testing haul across the huge open wilderness and regretted it ever since, while I was more than happy to follow that path for a third time. But it turned into yet another July afternoon in the Highlands when the heavens opened and obliterated the landscape. From start to end we were soaked by bullets from the sky, although at least this time the coats kept out the worst of it as we trod the boggy twelve miles across mountain and moor. On a fine day it’s a stunning walk, but in heavy rain it’s sheer purgatory with nowhere to throw in the towel and wait to be rescued by the bus or a taxi.

A couple of days later we met up with James and his wife Joanne who’d joined Karen to visit us at our waterfront pitch on the campsite beside the east bank of Loch Lomond, not far from their home. At least the rain mostly stayed at bay for once. We spent the time drinking tea and reminiscing about those wonderful shared adventures on the trail, and the day Karen and I hiked up to the summit of Buachaille Etive Mor, only to be surrounded by yet another thick veil of suffocating fog. Also in July. Catching up with friends like these was among the highlights of a road trip that we’ll never forget. It was a surprise though to hear that James no longer touched the whisky. Even a beer was politely refused when I dug a couple of cans out of the fridge.

Three weeks ago we learned that James had died suddenly while overseas on holiday with Joanne. A heart attack we were told. He was seventy-five. It doesn’t seem that old, and nor did James. Such a generous and unassuming man. The sad news took me back to the memory of that soaking wet hike across Rannoch Moor, when I smiled through the mist as I heard his well worn mantra speaking across the hills to me in that unmistakable Clydeside accent - “The only thing that’s waterproof is skin!” He’d have loved an afternoon like this. Slàinte James. This one’s for you.

My brother Dave made a video of the 2015 hike: youtu.be/LUjhj2ojeX0?si=1cOJLsAv2Qln-O8a

And despite the fact that his was so much better, I made one of the 2018 hike: youtu.be/Qjq47Wiyko8

Unter Berücksichtigung der Geschichte dieser Orte wurde der Name „Kurna Chata“ nach großen Brand weitergeführt, ebenso wie die Verbreiter der besten polnischen Gerichte, der Gastfreundschaft und der Herzlichkeit, die von den alten Erinnerungen an die Holzkneipe ausgehen. Wir zeigen, dass das Traditionelle äußerst schmackhaft und vielfältig ist und dass die altpolnische Küche eine große Fülle köstlicher Geschmäcker und Aromen bietet.

Taking into account the history of these places, the name "Kurna Chata" was kept alive after the great fire, as well as the propagators of the best Polish dishes, hospitality and warmth that emanate from the old memories of the wooden pub. We show that the traditional is extremely tasty and diverse and that the old Polish cuisine offers a great abundance of delicious tastes and aromas.

It's the muti-armed tentacle wielding fighting tree again, this time from a different angle but a tighter crop. Just love the bestial wrath this tree emanates!

A glittering rainbow of colours emanated from the weeds as brilliant sunshine struck hoar frost. All colours you see here are solely the work of Mother Nature.

A series of related images can be found on my page.

The cat looks at the moon.

He claws at the night

as if it were a shadow toy.

The night deceives him, creating shelters

and traps.

Beneath the giant precipice

he peers into an unfathomable and secret abyss.

The cat looks at the moon that only he knows.

Over the border drawn by the water

he discovers distant flowers that suddenly fill the pond

with their powerful cry of light.

The darkness has fallen asleep.

The large, white flower continues to send out deep and strange messages.

With it he discovers distances.

With it he scratches secrets.

With it he clings to the dreams of the wind

and finds mysterious traps

that he unravels with his white paw

while the moon plays with him.

He discovers the shelters of the night.

The wicked labyrinths

where the waves of water

draw secret and dark channels.

His immense eyes gaze into the distant flowers of light that emanate caresses.

But, as the moon breaks…

the cat discovers a hidden toy that lives at the bottom of the water

and slowly and quietly ignites his solitude.

by Carmen Nöel

Ode, Ode (204, 224, 75) - Moderado

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Ode/204/224/75

Laubhuette Production M11

The first two tracks were recorded in the main cathedral of Frankfurt am Main during a mass in 1968. At that time, some priests in Frankfurt were reaching out to young people by inviting rock groups, etc. into the service. In my case it was a Catholic priest who had seen John Coltrane perform and was a big modern jazz fan. So he asked Just Music (JuMu) if we wanted to play at the Dom, which is the biggest church in Frankfurt — a huge hall. In still moments of the recording you can hear the priest’s voice celebrating the mass.

There was a Protestant minister also in Frankfurt who sympathized with JuMu’s music. In 1967 he had invited me to play church organ with JuMu violinist/clarinetist Witold Teplitz accompanying on drums, next to the altar. On instruments we had no experience or training on, we both played in a totally free manner. He called it atonal music. (Some time after, a teacher asked me if I still played this “atomic” (atomar) music — he meant atonal music, but I couldn't help laughing, convinced that he had created a more fitting term.) The minister who had invited us was named Dieter Schnebel. He shortly left the priesthood and became famous as a New Music composer. www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dieter_Schnebel

Tracks 3 and 5 were recorded at “Centrum Freier Cunst“ / Fuchshohl Studio. These performances occurred a year apart from each other; track 5 features Witold Teplitz playing his violin perched upright upon his knees – as seen in the JuMu TV performance: www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHHT4OlaDns&feature=channel_page

Track 4 was made at a radio station as part of the series “Treffpunkt Jazz“ (Meeting Point Jazz). I still have the recorded talk with the two hosts, very important guys at that time (one was chief editor of the “Jazzpodium“). They said that they missed form and style in JuMu’s performance (“too free“), comparing us to groups in Stuttgart, the Modern Jazz Quintet Karlsruhe and Frederic Rabold’s group. They had those qualities we were supposed to lack. These commentators really were missing the point: our 100% open improv WAS the form and WAS the style of each tune. A similar misunderstanding of JuMu happened again soon after, at a Duesseldorf concert curated by Sigfried Schmidt-Joos who also missed the point. Nowadays such blindness of the managing VIPs seems ridiculous. But in those days when the split between amateurs and professionals ruled their thinking some critics emanated an ice-cold anti-recognition.

In 1969 we were all young, around nineteen or twenty years old (Herrmann was the exception, at twenty-six). I don't recall any of us being interested in what was going on in the Pop world – it would have been below our horizon. Probably unconsciously, we all tried to look older. We affected beards; Witold smoked cigars and pipe.

The last two tracks were recorded in a Prague radio studio before a live audience, who listened with attentive concentration. After the concert they told us they'd all been deeply touched by our passion and seriousness. This was just after the so-called Prague Spring revolution in 1968, which had been put down harshly by the Soviets. For the audience, JuMu had somehow touched off a profound emotional recall of their political and human losses — a time when all hope seemed lost. (In 1983, I played in Prague again with "Cassiber", and the audience were similarly moved.)

An unedited shot of a July sunset at Sterling State Park in Monroe, Michigan, with the lines from the nearby power plant emanating from the left side of the frame.

Steam emanating from the Ormond Beach Generating Station frames the setting sun over Port Hueneme this afternoon.

Interesting encounter !

La voyageuse : Gatineau bizarro

Jean-François Lacombe

La voyageuse explore Gatineau à travers des images qui révèlent un aspect « bizarro » de la ville. Elle met en lumière des lieux souvent négligés, tels que des terrains vagues, des ruines contemporaines et des espaces urbains marqués par des graffitis. Ces sites marginaux illustrent les défis contemporains et l'imaginaire collectif qui façonnent l'identité de Gatineau.

Elle invite les spectateurs à observer la nature qui reprend ses droits, la dégradation des structures abandonnées, et la poésie qui en émane, contrastant avec la modernité qui cherche à uniformiser l'espace urbain. La voyageuse encourage l'appréciation de ces espaces populaires, parfois kitsch, qui racontent notre relation au territoire.

Ces interstices du quotidien offrent une perspective alternative à un Gatineau planifié et « normalisé », soulignant que cette vision unique fait également partie de la réalité de la ville. Les participants sont invités à partager leurs propres découvertes de lieux marginaux avec le hashtag #gatineaubizarro sur les réseaux sociaux.

The traveler explores Gatineau through images that reveal a "bizarro" aspect of the city. She highlights often overlooked places, such as vacant lots, contemporary ruins, and urban spaces marked by graffiti. These marginal sites illustrate the contemporary challenges and the collective imagination that shape Gatineau's identity.

She invites viewers to observe nature reclaiming its space, the wear of time on abandoned structures, and the strange poetry that emanates from them, contrasting with the modernity that seeks to standardize urban space. The traveler encourages appreciation of these popular, sometimes kitschy spaces that tell the story of our connection to the territory.

These interstices of daily life offer an alternative perspective to a planned and "normalized" Gatineau, emphasizing that this unique vision is also part of the city's reality. Participants are invited to share their own discoveries of marginal places using the hashtag #gatineaubizarro on social media.

For people not from Australia, Uluru or Ayers Rock is a massive sandstone monolith, the red centre desert which is also almost the centre of Australian Continent as well.

I was very intimidated by the beauty of the landscape used in the August video Workflow and having exhausted my mountain landscape photos, I thought to come up with something completely different, something Australian. And what can be more Australian than Uluru?

I took this pano when we went to the dinner Under the Outback Sky poetically called "Sounds of silence".

It was an unforgettable experience.

I like not only the red earth but also the puffy clouds that seem to arrange themselves almost concentric over the Rock, like they emanate from it.

upon oak emanations

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