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- Han Tokyo Drift
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☠ Rings - Inhale-Exhalation Rings @ [ Spot Cat ]
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"Contemplate the marvel that is existence, and rejoice that you are able to do so. I feel I have the right to tell you this because, as I am inscribing these words, I am doing the same."
On a cold Spring Sunday, HSS
calm night. brilliant golden light.
mirrored sun, faint reflection of the day, rule the saturated blues, breathe out the misty twilight. invocation, exhalation, meditation, depth and breadth and oh …
moth i am, or butterfly, strange attractor, gentle oscillation against the heavy air, a quantum entanglement, a winged, elemental blue note, stretched, connected, resonant, reverberant, effecting a change, a golden glow.
calm night, brilliant golden light.
littletinperson
Mahanakhon is a 78 story skyscraper in the central business district of Bangkok. Its innovative design is like a breath of fresh air :)
Nikon D7500, Sigma 18-300, ISO 100, f/10.0, 18mm, 1/400s
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVFnooymyrI
to last crumb
to last feather
to last exhalation
to last squad
to last battle
to the inevitable path toward death ..
A smoker exhales while taking in the city surroundings outside the 'L' train station in downtown Oak Park, Illinois.
Nikon D7500, Sigma 18-300, ISO 1600, f/6.0, 145mm, 1/500s
This morning, very early an Ozark landscape transformed by a snow storm:
Far out in the field
almost to the forest
two horses stand quietly
as snow stops falling
as dawn comes on
the silence so deep
and cold, nothing
about them moving,
no sounds unless one
were nearer to hear
their soft exhalations,
the scene a still life
frozen in this moment
as though painted
by God himself.
--Miguel de O
Credits
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Early morning in the Park with low temperatures creates a great atmosphere for the annual rut. I was lucky to be in the right place when this stag bellowed and his warm breath drifted away in the cooler morning air.
Btw I know others have issues with Flickr in recent days I was 2 days without any notification emails and at least 24hrs without being able to post. All rather frustrating when we pay to use this platform.
Humpback whale
Monterey Bay, California
The anchovies are thick in the bay. Tinker studied his fish finder - we were on top of a column of swirling silver fish seventeen stories deep. Humpback are gorging, not paying any attention to the many boats coming out to watch them eat.
Zimbral Beach located on the west coast of Portugal about 70km north of Lisbon.
I can say that it is a great place to have a good peace of mind, a place I go on weekends.
Here I put a poem by Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen was one of the most important Portuguese poets of the 20th century.
She was the first Portuguese woman to receive the most important literary award in the Portuguese language, the Camões Prize, in 1999.
Her body has been in the National Pantheon since 2014
Sea
From all corners of the world
I love with a stronger and deeper love
That ecstatic and naked beach,
Where I joined the sea, the wind and the moon.
I smell the earth the trees and the wind
That spring fills with perfumes
But in them I just want and I just look for
The wild exhalation of the waves
Rising to the stars like a pure scream.
Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen
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Praia do Zimbral situada na costa Oeste de Portugal a cerca de 70km a norte de Lisboa.
Posso dizer que é um sitio ótimo para termos uma boa paz de espirito, local que eu frequento aos fins de semana.
Coloco aqui um poema da Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen foi uma das mais importantes poetisas portuguesas do século XX.
Foi a primeira mulher portuguesa a receber o mais importante galardão literário da língua portuguesa, o Prémio Camões, em 1999.
O seu corpo está no Panteão Nacional desde 2014
Mar
De todos os cantos do mundo
Amo com um amor mais forte e mais profundo
Aquela praia extasiada e nua,
Onde me uni ao mar, ao vento e à lua.
Cheiro a terra as árvores e o vento
Que a primavera enche de perfumes
Mas neles só quero e só procuro
A selvagem exalação das ondas
Subindo para os astros como um grito puro.
Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen
The Universal Mantra - The sound of inhalation and exhalation. The silent sound of life. It is the chain that links every moment from birth to death.
Painting on wood by Fatima Kazmi
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Comment by eyewrisz/Iris/Rose:
they're waiting for a call
when to fly before nightfall............
they're waiting for a call
when to fly before nightfall.........
Thanks Iris !!!
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No silence was so oceanic as the kingdom
coming down in flecks of light, glinting
silver-slivers, a needlepoint, at first, and then a drift
of ash, softer, hushed, a falling whitening
out of blue-black sky and wintering stars, school
and park, adjacent ball field where I stood
to watch the air disintegrate. Ice etched its lace
intaglio across the diamond with incisive
crystallinity. I was twelve, too over-awed and cold
to leave. St. Edward's bells began a muffled
Angelus as the snow, all trillion trillion wings of it,
intensified. Windless, each and each and each
bright tatter gentled earthward or rose deftly up,
wafting, aswirl, luminous melting wafers
upon my tongue, ghostwritten haikus the dark
erased. A car eased past, half-blind;
houselights glowed from a near solar system.
I watched this joyous offspring of Canada
and Mexico, of this world's elements wed to the in-
visible, manna frosting grass and trees
in which I'd once found sanctuary. I was center
stillness in an infinity of blur my eyes could
freeze a blink, fixed focus in a 3-D, holographic
brainstorm, thinking. The geese above or high
in it were a sudden stray thought, off the flyway by sixty
miles. I heard them pass, a flock of lost souls,
faint, ooga bike horns honking. Or were they some
other sound the mind rearranged and memory
embellished? I stood listening, each moist exhalation
a dissipating spirit, joining the fray. My hands
curled inside my gloves, inside my parka. Snow was
every reason made whole, piecemeal, falling.
--M deO
No silence was so oceanic as the kingdom
coming down in flecks of light, glinting
silver-slivers, a needlepoint, at first, and then a drift
of ash, softer, hushed, a falling whitening
Out of blue-black sky and wintering stars, school
and park, adjacent ballfield where I stood
to watch the air disintegrate. Ice etched its lace
intaglio across the diamond with incisive
Crystallinity. I was twelve, too over-awed and cold
to leave. St. Edward's bells began a muffled
angelus as the snow, all trillion trillion wings of it,
intensified. Windless, each and each and each
Bright tatter gentled earthward or rose deftly up,
wafting, aswirl, luminous melting wafers
upon my tongue, ghostwritten haikus the night
erased. A car eased past, half-blind.
Houselights glowed from a near solar system.
I watched this joyous offspring of Canada
and Mexico, of this world's elements wed to the in-
visible, manna frosting grass and trees
In which I'd once found sanctuary. I was center
stillness in an infinity of blur my eyes could
freeze a blink, fixed focus in a 3-D, holographic
brainstorm, thinking. The geese above or high
In it were a sudden stray thought, off the flyway by sixty
miles. I heard them pass, a flock of lost souls,
faint, ooga bike horns honking. Or were they some
other sound the mind rearranged and memory
Embellished? I stood listening, each moist exhalation
a dissipating spirit, joining the fray. My hands
curled inside my gloves, inside my parka. Snow was
every reason made whole, piecemeal, falling.
--Miguel deO
Несколько часов тряски в машине по разбитой дороге, да такой, что внутренние органы уже упаковали свои вещи и готовы покинуть это бренное тело, и я оказался на плато Канжол, известное своими живописными панорамами и беспощадной красотой. В ясную погоду отсюда открывается захватывающий дух вид на Эльбрус, но в этот раз зловещее серое облако нависло над ним, полностью скрыв от глаз непрошенных фотографов.
Покинув машину, я в полной мере ощутил на себе ледяное дыхание двуглавого гиганта, до которого оставалось каких-то 10км по прямой. Пронизывающий ветер, который играл с моей курткой, заставляя радоваться каждой капле тепла, оставшейся на теле, казалось, тоже искал место поуютнее. Каждый мой выдох превращался в туман, своеобразный молчаливый протест облачной вуали. Над этими древними склонами царила суровая и угрюмая атмосфера, которую лишь подчёркивало затянутое тучами небо, серые оттенки которого резко контрастировали с яркой палитрой моих фантазий и предвкушений. Мой энтузиазм трещал по швам, пока я кутался в теплые вещи, ведь я собирался для утра великолепного света. Поэтому я отправился просто погулять по склонам, возможно наметить ракурсы для будущих съемок, но на всякий случай прихватил все свое снаряжение.
Спустившись с очередного холма, я оказался на краю ущелья, где далеко внизу формировались облака. Древние скалы, словно кости огромного скелета, торчали из тумана, который медленно перетекал из одного ущелья в другое. Туман создавал иллюзию, будто горы плывут по морю облаков. Могучие деревья, когда-то зеленые и яркие, теперь носили плащ из мягкого белого тумана, который то отступал, то снова накатывал, окутывая пейзаж белесой вуалью. Пока я наблюдал за игрой тумана, облака продолжали формироваться, становясь гуще и более четкими, будто поглощая пар из воздуха. В какой-то момент здесь пронесется ветер, унося за собой эти неторопливые тучки, срывая с деревьев их плащи и обнажая скалы.
Я продолжал снимать туманные пейзажи в твердой уверенности, что условия этим утром лучше не станут. Когда я наконец утолил свою жажду прекрасного и был готов отправиться пить горячий чай с печеньками, тонкий луч света пронзил тучи, подсвечивая все теплым золотистым сиянием. Казалось, весь мир вокруг ожил, отвечая на нежное прикосновение света, который танцевал на склоне горы, отбрасывая пятнистые тени на туманные деревья. Время остановилось, пока я лихорадочно фотографировал, потерявшись в красоте момента.
A few hours of shaking in the car on a broken road, so much so that the internal organs have already packed their things and are ready to leave this mortal body, and I found myself on the Kanzhol plateau, famous for its picturesque panoramas and merciless beauty. In clear weather, a breathtaking view of Elbrus opens up from here, but this time an ominous gray cloud hung over it, completely hiding from the eyes of uninvited photographers.
Having left the car, I fully felt the icy breath of the two-headed giant, which was only 10 km away in a straight line. The piercing wind, which played with my jacket, making me rejoice at every drop of warmth remaining on my body, seemed to be looking for a more comfortable place. Each of my exhalations turned into fog, a kind of silent protest of the cloud veil. The atmosphere over these ancient slopes was harsh and gloomy, which was only emphasized by the overcast sky, the gray shades of which contrasted sharply with the bright palette of my fantasies and anticipations. My enthusiasm was bursting at the seams while I was wrapping myself in warm clothes, because I was preparing for the glorious light of the morning. So I just went for a walk along the slopes, perhaps to mark out locations for future shoots, but just in case, I grabbed all my gear.
Descending from another hill, I found myself on the edge of a gorge, where clouds were forming far below. Ancient rocks, like the bones of a huge skeleton, stuck out of the fog, which slowly flowed from one gorge to another. The fog created the illusion that the mountains were floating on a sea of clouds. The mighty trees, once green and vibrant, now wore a cloak of soft white mist that retreated and rolled in again, shrouding the landscape in a whitish veil. As I watched the play of mist, the clouds continued to form, becoming thicker and more defined, as if absorbing the steam from the air. At some point, a wind would sweep through here, carrying away these leisurely clouds, tearing cloaks from the trees and exposing the rocks.
I continued to photograph the foggy landscapes, firmly convinced that conditions would not improve this morning. When I finally quenched my thirst for beauty and was ready to go drink hot tea and cookies, a thin beam of light pierced the clouds, illuminating everything with a warm golden glow. It seemed that the whole world around me came alive, responding to the gentle touch of light that danced on the mountainside, casting dappled shadows on the misty trees. Time stood still as I frantically took pictures, lost in the beauty of the moment.
Red deer stag bolving at sunrise during the rut. www.ChrisDraperPhotography.com shared with pixbuf.com
This past weekend I did a couple of days visiting some of my favorite places, including many that I had shot before. It's sort of my way of keeping tabs.
One house that I've shot for over a decade is now gone. I knew it wouldn't be long - most of it fell down last year. But sadly, it didn't survive the winter.
This old grain elevator will be standing for decades to come though. It was built by the first owner of the land and for some reason he used running boards from old Ford Model Ts for the steps on the staircase leading up to the ladder.
I don't know why he would have done this, but if he had built the stairs out of wood, they'd probably be gone by now. This staircase was constructed to last the life of the elevator.
On a technical side, two things. 1) The film holder I used has now been retired. It was likely as old as the building here. The baffle has finally failed and we've got a light leak. 2) I wasn't sure the lens could handle such a rear tilt (done to bring the building parallel to me). Alas, it can, even though it's got a very tiny image circle.
I took a bunch of photos, and will be developing them for a week or so. Both shoot days, the sky was cloudless. Usually this is enough for me to cancel a trip, but I wanted to see the wildflowers again before they all die.
I was still a bit early for the Mariposa Lily, which doesn't bloom until most of the other flowers are gone.
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'Exhalation'
Camera: Chamonix 45F-2
Lens: Schneider Xenar 3.5; 150mm
Film: Fomapan 100
Exposure: f/25; 1/10sec
Process: FA-1027; 1+14; 9min
Washington
May 2025
The Ghosts of the Duomo
Don't care if you're religious
Or if you are just there
to, while in awe, stare
at the magnificent architecture
They'll still whisper spooky secrets in your ear
About all that happens after what we know exists
And what comes after our last exhalation.
Even if you don't listen to these Duomo Ghosts
You're going to a feel a chill in your gut on a ninety degree day.
You'll realize this Earth is not where you'll always stay.
And feel grateful to be alive today.
**All photos and ghost poems are copyrighted**
The morning is draped in mist, soft and silver, curling through the forest like a dream reluctant to wake. Each step along the damp path carries the muffled crunch of leaves and the faint scent of moss and rain. The air is cool and startlingly clean, and as I draw it into my lungs, I feel as if I’m inhaling the forest itself—its quiet strength, its hidden life.
With every breath, a heaviness I didn’t know I carried begins to lift. My shoulders relax, my heart feels lighter, and a subtle energy sparks in my chest. The world is hushed but alive—tiny droplets cling to ferns, distant birds call to one another, and the trees stand tall like patient guardians. I pause for a moment, letting the mist bead against my skin, and breathe deeply again.
In this simple act of walking, of filling my lungs with fresh, unfiltered air, I can feel life returning to me. Each inhalation seems to whisper, you are here, you are strong, you are alive. And with every exhalation, fatigue and doubt dissolve into the morning mist.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ukmjBSQY-c&list=RD6ukmjBSQY-...
Simon and Garfunkel - The Sound of Silence
Deceptive
You’d really think he’d be nicer
Than his fire breathing cousin
in America
He can really burn you up, though.
With his poutine breath
And he doesn’t care about your high rent
Or how hungry you are
He just wants to breathe
But every exhalation means
Danger for nearby humans
Just trying to get home.
There is one way to defeat him.
Bring him some Aero Bars and
a Double Double
Sing him your favorite song by The Sadies
And he’ll be calm and lovable
Just like everyone else on the streets
Trying to make their way
Through this weary urban abyss.
Besides, we’re all a little looney.
**All photos and silly poems are copyrighted**
public access to the beach at the north end of pawley's island, south carolina. tricky exposure in the blinding white, mid-morning sun, but this still conveys that hot, squinty-eyed feeling of walking on the sand and getting that first glimpse of the ocean, just beyond the dunes. i've made this walk so many times, whether at pawley's or tybee or edisto or hunting or any of the other barrier islands along the south carolina and georgia coasts, it is burned into my memory, etched by the sun. the feeling i get when my memory aligns with my reality, as it does in this simple image, literally takes my breath away in a big exhalation of delight and relief, the relief you feel only when you are truly, wholly home.
please subsitute your own precious experience in this space … and exhale.
littletinperson
This is an EDC that this country bumpkin tucks away daily in my pocket. It is ready for use in an instant.
Although I'm completely vaccinated, that does not mean that this now endemic virus cannot be found within me. Finding a very challenging host, it still could be there but the virus will now not do much to me, thanks to the vaccine. On the other hand, the mask helps limit the wind range of my exhalation and its water vapors that COVID may be hitching a ride on, which in turn limits the spread of COVID from me to others, especially the unvaccinated. Wearing a mask and keeping social distance. Do unto others as you would have others do unto you, right?
One of the shots I took recently on the "Grossglockner High Alpine Road" in the Alps. It was a dull day, but at about 2300 meters height the clouds started to break and the spectacle began.
On migration, humpbacks may not feed for as much as 8 months of the year. Humpbacks are known to have the longest annual migration of any mammal. They travel from the Antarctic Peninsula south of Cape Horn, across the Equator to Columbia or even Mexico.
As whales reach the water surface to breathe, they forcefully expel air through the blowhole. The exhalation is released into the comparably lower-pressure, colder atmosphere, and any water vapor condenses.
The humpback whale (Megaptera novaeangliae) is a species of baleen whale. One of the larger rorqual species, adults range in length from 12–16 m and weigh around 25–30 metric tons. The humpback has a distinctive body shape, with long pectoral fins and a knobbly head. It is known for breaching and other distinctive surface behaviors, making it popular with whale watchers. Males produce a complex song lasting 10 to 20 minutes, which they repeat for hours at a time. All the males in a group will produce the same song which is different each season. Its purpose is not clear, though it may have a role in mating by inducing estrous. Found in oceans and seas around the world, humpback whales typically migrate up to 25,000 km each year. They feed in polar waters, and migrate to tropical or subtropical waters to breed and give birth, fasting and living off their fat reserves. Their diet consists mostly of krill and small fish. Humpbacks have a diverse repertoire of feeding methods, including the bubble net technique. Like other large whales, the humpback was a target for the whaling industry. Once hunted to the brink of extinction, its population fell by an estimated 90% before a 1966 moratorium. While stocks have partially recovered to some 80,000 animals worldwide, entanglement in fishing gear, collisions with ships and noise pollution continue to affect the species. R_33590
Certains orages ont marqué les mémoires, dont par exemple en France celui de juillet 1788 qui pourrait être une des causes de la crise ayant favorisé la Révolution française. Cet orage de grêle d'une force exceptionnelle a ravagé toutes les campagnes céréalières de la Loire au Rhin en passant par le nord de la France le 13 juillet, alors que, cette même année, des canicules et sécheresses sévissaient. Le tout menant à une perte des récoltes et donc à une hausse des prix des denrées de base20.
De l'autre côté de l'Atlantique, le déluge de Montréal le 14 juillet 1987 a complètement paralysé la métropole québécoise de près de 2 millions d'habitants. Aux États-Unis, de nombreux événements orageux retiennent l'attention, dont les tornades de l'Oklahoma du 3 mai 1999, qui ont fait 88 morts et dont l'une était de force F5 avec les vents les plus forts jamais notés pour un tel phénomène
Thunderstorms strongly influenced many early civilizations. Greeks believed that they were battles waged by Zeus, who hurled lightning bolts forged by Hephaestus. Some American Indian tribes associated thunderstorms with the Thunderbird, who they believed was a servant of the Great Spirit.[94] The Norse considered thunderstorms to occur when Thor went to fight Jötnar, with the thunder and lightning being the effect of his strikes with the hammer Mjölnir. Christian doctrine accepted the ideas of Aristotle's original work, called Meteorologica, that winds were caused by exhalations from the Earth and that fierce storms were the work of God. These ideas were still within the mainstream as late as the 18th century. source wikipédia
Inhale, and God approaches you. Hold the inhalation, and God remains with you. Exhale, and you approach God. Hold the exhalation, and surrender to God. ~Krishnamacharya
Sometimes, I look through old photos and what I didn’t realize was there was actually present all along…that growing unease that something wasn’t quite right…this was 2019 but there were times you could sense it in the sigh of a parent and the look of anxiety in one’s eyes. And, you know you hold your loved ones close and you know you’d do anything to make sure they survived even a pandemic.
And I look at this photo and I hope they are still alive. The child may be 6 or 7 by now. We’ve learned quite a bit about the world and ourselves if we’re still breathing. And, in every lift there is an “I love you” and in every gesture there is, “I promise I’ll protect you.” But, in every exhalation, there’s a feeling that the world is bigger than all of us and we’ll never be the same again.
We are all funny little beasts when you really think about it and we all share a space in a vast and impossible world.
**All photos are copyrighted**
В этой неброской фотографии скрыта редкая особенность: это — закат Луны на восходе Солнца.
Граница состояний — это не линия. Это — пауза.
Между вдохом и выдохом.
Между знанием и сомнением.
Между тем, что произошло,
и тем, что больше не имеет значения.
Hidden within this unassuming photograph lies a rare phenomenon: is the Мoon setting at Sunrise.
The boundary of states is not a line. It is a pause.
Between inhalation and exhalation.
Between knowing and doubting.
Between what has happened
and what no longer matters.
Poland