View allAll Photos Tagged Exhalation
"Let it be spring!
Come, bubbling, surging tide of sap!
Come, rush of creation!
Come, life! surge through this mass of mortification!
Come, sweep away these exquisite, ghastly first-flowers,
which are rather last-flowers!
Come, thaw down their cool portentousness, dissolve them:
snowdrops, straight, death-veined exhalations of white and purple crocuses,
flowers of the penumbra, issue of corruption, nourished in mortification,
jets of exquisite finality;
Come, spring, make havoc of them!"
-----------------------------------------------------------
"Ah , do not let me die on the brink of such anticipation !
Worse , let me not deceive myself".
In Poèmes.......................NRF / Poésie/ Gallimard.
🎧 davidshea.bandcamp.com/track/goodbye-yesterday
Light slipped gently over the deserted beach. Alone, a little girl walked along the shoreline, as if waiting for something or someone, draped in the soft glow of twilight. The air was fresh and salty, and the world seemed to be holding its breath.
Suddenly, something impossible appeared above the sea. A massive whale floated in the sky, its fins gliding through the air as if it were water. The whale touched neither sand nor the foam of the waves: it hovered gently, a colossal and peaceful silhouette in the gathering dusk. From its wide, half-open mouth hung a dark sphere, almost as large as the child, suspended in the void. The whale approached in silence.
The little girl’s heart beat slowly, with strength, like the waves of the sleeping sea. She wasn’t afraid, only her eyes were full of wonder and her breath caught in front of this benevolent apparition. Her hands trembled slightly as she dared to reach toward the gift the great whale seemed to offer her, an immense black pearl.
The child gently laid her palms against the surface of the black pearl. To her great surprise, the pearl felt warm and pulsed with its own life, as if a small heart were beating inside it in echo of her own. Beneath her fingers, the smooth surface reflected the night sky and the stars, and in those reflections she thought she saw images dancing. Perhaps they were memories from the ocean depths, or dreams entrusted by the whale itself. For a moment, the little girl felt transported elsewhere: she saw endless oceans, forests of kelp swaying in dark waters, and a night sky so vast it could have fit entirely within the pearl.
The floating whale observed the child in silence with its immense and gentle eye. In the calm of night, an invisible bond was being woven, made of trust, gratitude, and mystery. The little girl looked up at the whale and, with a timid smile, sent it all her gratitude. The whale, in a slow movement of its head, seemed to reply: it understood her. For a long moment, the child and the whale remained like that, both illuminated by the moonlight and the inner glow of the pearl.
Finally, the little girl took the pearl into her arms as best she could. It was heavy, but the child could carry it without effort, as if the pearl were made of dream and not nacre. The girl felt that a promise had just been sealed, or perhaps a memory shared. The whale slowly lifted its head toward the sky. Gently, it began to rise higher into the air, returning to the stars above the beach. The black pearl now rested against the child’s heart, held close. The magical creature then released a long, deep breath, not a cry, just an exhalation like a sigh of wind. And in that breath one could hear something like a farewell.
The little girl watched the flying whale disappear above the dark waves, her arms wrapped around the pearl. Had it really happened? The cool sand beneath her unseen feet and the tender weight of the pearl against her said yes. And yet, the dreamlike atmosphere still floating around her made her doubt.
Without a word, the child looked down at her black, gleaming treasure. She saw her own reflection in it: a small silhouette with eyes shining with joyful tears, and perhaps behind her the shadow of a fin vanishing into the night sky. In her heart, a new hope was beginning to rise, as if the whale had entrusted her with the key to a riddle or an adventure to come. Gently, the little girl closed her eyes, listening to the waves resume their song. When she opened them again, the night had returned to its usual stillness.
On the beach, the little girl still stood there, alone but not truly alone. In the sky, a shooting star passed, drawing a silver arc above the ocean. The girl held the pearl close as she watched the star fade. She didn’t know what the future held for her with this strange gift: perhaps an extraordinary journey, perhaps the memory of a unique night. In that moment, everything seemed possible. In the wind’s final whisper, she thought she heard a distant whale song echoing, as if from both the sky and the sea, whispering that the world of dreams was watching over her.
Carolyn Handrick.
Story inspired by the flying fish tale in Arizona Dream (1993), by Emir Kusturica:
The flying fish is more than a visual oddity. It represents Axel’s link to the dream world, his inner wisdom, and the boundary between reality and fantasy. It frames his journey between New York, Arizona, and Alaska, reminding us that “when dreams are ready to die, they return to where they came from.”
Photo Taken at Imogen Installation by BrynOh, SecondLife, 2025
Marsh Wren (Cistothorus palustris)
/ Birds of the Tidal Meadow /
Needling the marsh's silence with metallic telemetries, the Marsh Wren is a restless sonic syllable of energy, exclamation for tail.
Standing near the cattails, their blades rubbing against my sleeve, I listen intently. Somewhere among the murky water’s dark furniture of roots and mud, they stir, a feathered pulse.
No larger than my thumb, yet the marsh bends to their will; galaxies lean closer to hear this obstinate heart. Each note bubbles up like methane from the mud - small, ancient exhalations of life remembering itself.
O fierce particles of persistence! the Universe grows immense around you, yet you stay upright, singing. Marsh wren! Marsh wren! singular argument for courage in a world too vast to name.
When dawn comes, no one will remember how your voice kept the whole wetland awake; but the moon remembers, and so will I.
It's not so much that morning started late,
later than usual
yes, faith will I, Friday's and Saturday's and all
and this quote, though unusual,
fits the movement of mood as it shifts to recall
a spellbound night, over hills of dreams in flight
dark it must be said, hears best of all
through it's pitched colour one is pierced
no sooner bought than ready to forestall
all of life's fluidity sluiced
now sullen lowland mists offer-up
this foretaste of autumnally-wished reticence
for the operatic needle marking a question
it's blood answering...to no less than advertence
under the cloak of anaesthetised profession
where hope is coldest and despair most fits
it was said for comedy's stage
yet tragedy feels closer and covers my skin
with that slice of fear turning the sharpened page
I no longer know which drama I am in
another chapter is almost out...of candlelight
the one that foretells the dead of night
flickering my mind's shadow 'pon the ceiling
that transfiguring thunderstorm conducting an inner fight
for all it awakens is the vigour it is stealing
now wax gives way to moonlight
a teacup in the atmosphere of the dream that sips
the translucent illumination of what's the matter
disablement now throes a daily eclipse
so you see, greyed is my view from hopes spinal shatter
it can no longer stand, no, no longer stand at all
routine? if it exists, acts the reaping thresher
beating-out my very will, thrashing my last bet
gee-gee power let down badly by diastolic pressure
this hell sure is making me sweat
now a genderless air thins till my breathing can marry it no more
gasping rings too expensive to inhale
every exhalation is pricelessly free yet bankrupt
all at the expense of a heart beating to no obvious avail
where does it end? when the penny drops, it's truth is so abrupt.
by anglia24
11h30: 05/09/2008
©2008anglia24
"Crying is one of the highest devotional songs. One who knows crying, knows spiritual practice. If you can cry with a pure heart, nothing else compares to such a prayer. Crying includes all the principles of Yoga.”
― Kripalvanandji
[I'm currently going through a 200-hour vinyasa teacher training program to become a yoga instructor. It has been challenging and blissfully rewarding. I had no idea how amazing it would feel to help others feel amazing. Yoga has changed my life the past three years and gotten me through some of the absolute lowest points I've ever experienced. I can't recommend it enough.]
A White-tailed Deer (Odocoileus virginianus) buck from Willacy County, Texas.
Though whitetails may not bugle like elk or bellow like moose, they do exhibit a broad range of vocalizations during the rut. For example, when approached too closely by a rival, a buck may force air through his nostrils and make a long hissing sound known as a wheeze. It may be preceded by two shorter exhalations, in which case it is known as a "snort-wheeze." Occasionally, a mature buck may also communicate his displeasure toward a photographer in this manner.
If this guy were a reindeer, I think he would be called "Wheezy." Merry Christmas Eve to all my Flickr friends.
“Hearts Live By Being Wounded”
― Oscar Wilde
I know the pain of wanting and the pain of losing.
I think we all do. But -
With heart-ache, heart-ease.
With release, room for more.
With acceptance, room for exhalation.
I love this image, I love blood, I love hurt. I am macabre, absolutely. I love pain from that deepest part of oneself that can hardly be explained, can hardly even be pinned down. Like a dream, it dissolves the more I try to hold it still. Obsessively, I study darkness in a flawed attempt to cage it.
The pain of my wounds bubbles in me like a spell waiting to be cast.
Right now I'm waiting for a call to take in my next foster babe -
there's a lot of hurt in the waiting, a lot of memories unbidden and constant.
The teeth of my spine curve into a crooked, sharpened smile.
I have the backbone for this.
"Hearts Live by Being Wounded" self-portrait, July 2021
Available as a print + and part of the larger series, "Night Terrors", through: www.joanneartmangallery.com
“Stop treating your pain like it’s something you imagined. If you see the wound is real, then you can heal it.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Crooked Kingdom
After my encounter at the abandoned house, I figured the remainder of Sunday afternoon would be smooth sailing.
I set off deeper into the back hill country of south-central Eastern Washington State like the bear going over the mountain— to see what I could see. The narrow gravel roads meandered, curved back on themselves and took no readily predictable direction, as they followed the contours of the landscape. I passed one ranch house off in the distance; barely discernible where it squatted at the base of the browned-hill horizon. Other than that, no cars, no people, no civilization.
Drifting along in a pleasant frame of mind, I was suddenly shaken from my near meditative state by the unmistakable klaxon call of the Emergency Broadcast System. Force of habit turned my eye to the stereo, but immediately came to terms with the fact it wasn't even turned on, being as I enjoy the natural silence when I'm in places like this. My cell phone was stashed in the ashtray, and it was from there that the braying alarm had originated. Stopping the truck, I retrieved the phone and flipped it open— Kirk to Enterprise...yes, I still use a flip phone. :^D
My eyes were greeted to a flashy display of red, yellow and black— implying all the danger of an agitated coral snake ready to inject the venom. "IMMINENT THREAT, Extreme". The urgency of which was punctuated by a furious red exclamation point.
www.flickr.com/gp/73760601@N02/M221z0
And just when I thought the rest of the day was going to be all rainbows and unicorns. With a slight sighing exhalation, I tapped the button to display the message and read:
"From:Imminent Threat - Extreme (Jul 31) - Emergency Alerts
Fire danger in the area of Richards Rd residents in that
area to evacuate."
www.flickr.com/gp/73760601@N02/BF3Nv0
Okay, hmmm...where am I in relation to this...let's check the map...oh, that's nice— looks like it's...right over there...behind that line of hills that the cloud of smoke is boiling up from.
The road was heading at a 90 degree angle from the smoke, but these roads change direction on a dime; so at this point, it wasn't clear if the road was going to lead me directly into the fire.
Now here was the quandary I faced. There are no services in areas like this for 50+ miles and I had planned to have enough fuel to make it to the next place gas was available— which was ahead, on down the road about another 40 miles. What I didn't have, was the luxury of enough gas to backtrack the way I had come from and make it to the nearest fuel-stop in that direction.
The unknown was whether I was going to encounter a raging wildfire over those hills. Well, here goes— you only live once. LOL!
Now this last leg doesn't warrant a play-by-play; suffice it to say there were a lot of u-turns and changed roads, as I tried to avoid what was a dangerously close wildfire. So close in fact, that I kept encountering flame-razed areas where the stench of charred wood overpowered the air and the ground still smoked in places.
www.flickr.com/photos/18092121@N00/28136445763
Fortunately for me, I managed to remain where the fire had been, versus where it was headed— which was in the direction of the Hanford nuclear power plant. So after some circuitous driving, I rolled into Mabton, WA with gas to spare and nary a singed whisker.
I came away with a few shots and a story to tell, heading home at this point— which took six hours for what should have been a three hour drive, due to three separate car crashes and some poorly planned road construction Sunday night, coupled with everyone heading back to Seattle after the weekend. That's okay, I'll take that over being another shrimp on the barbie any time!
© 2010 Aelin Quan – All rights reserved - Réf. 101109
“I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.”
(W. Shakespeare)
Taken at Sea side island.
Creation by Lillou Merlin.
Textures by Dog Ma - many thanks !
SCUBA diving is sensual. To breathe underwater is one of the most fascinating and peculiar sensations imaginable. Breathing becomes a rhythmic melody of inhalations and exhalations. The cracks and pops of fish and crustaceans harmonize with the rhythmic chiming of the bubbles as you exhale. Soon, lungs act as bellows, controlling your buoyancy as you achieve weightlessness. And, as in your dreams, you are flying. Combine these otherworldly stimuli and you surrender completely to the sanctuary of the underwater world.
TEC CLARK, forward, Karen Berger's Scuba Diving
There is no smoke. No fires. No Smog. Shouldn't they be called the Great Hazy Mountains? Or more accurately, Ancient-Forests-Exude-Life-Giving-Foggy-Vapors Mountains?
San Simeon, Ca. Juvenile elephant seals
Elephant seals take their name from the large proboscis of the adult male (bull), which resembles an elephant's trunk. The bull's proboscis is used in producing extraordinarily loud roaring noises, especially during the mating season. More importantly, however, the nose acts as a sort of rebreather, filled with cavities designed to reabsorb moisture from their exhalations. This is important during the mating season when the seals do not leave the beach to feed, and must conserve body moisture as there is no incoming source of water. - Wikipedia
I don’t mind admitting that I was a bit confused. I mean where did the water come from? Ok, we were on a beach, but even at high tide the sea didn’t seem to come anywhere near this far inland. Eventually, we concluded that the wetland on the other side of the long thin strip of dirt road that connects Stokksnes to the café by the entrance barriers must be the source. Somehow it was feeding this lagoon that seemed to self-replenish with each tide, before gradually sinking into the dense black sand.
Those of you who’ve stood before this extraordinary mountain range will know that doing so comes at a cost. Only a modest cost, but it’s a bone of contention for many. But if you’ve done your homework, then at least you’ve prepared yourself for it. The online reviews are interesting, and some people described the staff here as “rude and obnoxious.” I often wonder whether these people have become confused and started describing themselves, because that wasn’t our experience. We received warm smiles in exchange for ours, and a potted description of the highlights. In my experience, people are pretty much always friendly when you treat them with respect. Apart from the lady who once served us at Slough Railway station when we were heading into London to watch England play Estonia at Wembley. She was rude and obnoxious in the extreme to every customer who was unfortunate enough to be standing in her queue, and no number of pleasantries were getting around the fact. When it came to my turn, it took me about five seconds longer than it might have done to hand over our fares, in return for which I received a hard glare and a very audible exhalation of dismay. One of John Betjeman’s friendly bombs was clearly in need in Slough that morning. But that’s another matter.
Here at Vestrahorn, we were told where we’d see the lagoon, and we made it our first port of call. Funnily enough I’d stood in the middle of it in my wellies, or a previous version of it, three years earlier, pointing my camera back towards the road for a shot entitled “The Life of Brian.” There’d been no point in trying to photograph the main attraction that day, because for all the low lying cloud we might as well have been back at Wembley watching the football. But now, Vestrahorn was entirely visible, and framed by pleasing white cumulus shapes floating gently over its peaks.
We’d been waiting for this. In fact I’d been so excited as we drove along the side road that brings the visitor here, craning my neck around each corner and then complaining that I still couldn’t see it. And you don’t get to see it until you’re in, because it faces directly south, away from the road entirely. But now we were here, loudly salivating at the sight in front of us. Nothing really prepares you for your first sight of Vestrahorn, this compact microcosm of the country it sits at the edge of, maybe a mile wide, and so beautifully formed that you might think a famous architect had designed it. The question was, how long would the lagoon last? There seemed to be a lot less water there than I’d remembered from three years earlier. It was time to get cracking.
I soon learned that as I suspected, sixteen millimetres wasn’t enough. Not from here anyway. And after plodding about at the edge of the water in my wellies, I found as good a spot as I was going to, and took several sets of two or three frames to stitch together later and then moved onto the dunes to try something else.
Twenty-four hours later I was back here again, with a fuller lagoon and streaky clouds, convinced that a better shot was forthcoming. I edited the images from the second visit quite some time ago, but I’m still not happy with them, and it was only recently that I decided to revisit the shots I’d taken the first time around. This time, things seemed to flow much more happily in the editing suite, as sliders became friends instead of adversaries. It would have been lovely if those sandbars in the middle of the scene had been submerged, but you can’t have it all I guess. Maybe I’ll return to the day two edit at some point, and see if the processing blocks have melted away, but I’m pretty happy with how this one worked out, framed by clouds in all four corners. And Vestrahorn reflected, is a sight worth seeing. Even if I’m still not entirely certain how all that water arrived here to make it possible.
© Leanne Boulton, All Rights Reserved
Candid street photography from Glasgow, Scotland. Captured on a fantastic day in the city with Mister G.C.. Although street photography is quite the solitary vocation, shooting with a fellow street photographer can open your eyes to so many different ways of seeing your surroundings - enjoy!
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A dolphin close encounter provides a good example of surface tension.
Note, only his bottle-nose has penetrated the water surface while his body and exhalation is causing the water to seem to "bend".
Surface tension could be defined as the property of the surface of a liquid that allows it to resist an external force, due to the cohesive nature of the water molecules.
At sea, under the surface, turned upside down, a slight exhalation, my breath... All these bubbles, like an explosion of matter! Result: my sinuses saturated with sea water... it cleans!
East End Beach ~ Casco Bay ~ Portland, Maine
Nikon D7500, Sigma 18-300, ISO 400, f/6.3, 260mm, 1/200s
Devil's gold miners. That's how they are called. They are the miners of Ijen, in southern Java, the last sulfur mine in the world in an active volcano. It is anachronistic and incredible to observe their living and working conditions. They leave the base camp at the foot of the volcano and with a three-hour walk they arrive at the top of the mountain and then descend for 300 meters in the mouth of the volcano, two or three times a day. They go back with 70/100 kg of sulfur on their shoulders. The path is steep and at the bottom there is the most dangerous sulfur lake in the world. All this for 12 euros per day. Their average life is 50 years. The more fortunate (few) have anti gas goggles. Most have a rag to cover their mouth. Sulfur exhalations are toxic, burn eyes and lungs and corrode skin and teeth. We went down twice in a week because we could not believe our eyes. We met some of them who told us their story, their health problems related to the calluses that are formed on their shoulders for the inhuman weight they carry. We were upset and hypnotized by this unreal world.
April misty sunrise in fields near Bolsover. I spotted the cow's silhouette and exhalations from 1/4 mile away and that is what caught my eye initially - against the backdrop of the castle obviously :)
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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_33504
Okay, happy people, it's Spring. I cannot contain my excitement when I see blossom on the trees. I slept with my curtains open last night, I basked in the moonlight and woke to rays of blissful sun. That's contentment. That's reason to keep living and keep breathing and keep giving and keep taking. Today I'm leaving hibernation and tackling my wintry demons, it's time for a mental spring clean. Maybe I'll re read this and dismiss it as sun-fueled-serotonin intoxication but right here, right now, I'm okay. I'm not just existing.
“The illimitable,
silent,
never-resting thing
called Time, rolling,
rushing on, swift,
silent,
like an all-embracing ocean-tide,
on which we and all the universe swim like exhalations,
like apparitions which are,
and then are not:
this is forever very.”
Thomas Carlyle
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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_33501
Rocky Sea, Berchtesgaden
-------------------------------------------------
Steinernes Meer, Berchtesgaden.
"Art is a little bit larger than life - it's an exhalation of life and I think you probably need a little touch of madness."
Laurence Olivier
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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. S23U_91
Went diving on Saturday and was blowing bubbles - Problem is: the camera doesn't have a wide enough angle lens on it to capture the bubble when it's nearest the 'perfect circle' point - which is immediately after exhalation. Don't think a wide angle adaptor will fit on the end of the camera inside the housing, either... so I think I'll have to work on more perfect bubbles. which means more diving... ahhhh, sometimes it's a rough life.
~Elephant Seals~
Elephant Seals at the Piedras Blancas Elephant Seal Rookery.
#RigsRocks #WestCoast #WestCoastLiving #Beach #Ocean #PacificOcean #ElephantSeals #ElephantSealRookery #PiedrasBlancas #PiedrasBlancasElephantSealRookery #SanSimeon #Proboscis #Bulls #MaleBulls #2019Photos #Water #Ocean #Sun #Spring #Seals #Sand #Flippers #Phocids #Molting #Sea #Proboscis #Bulls #Rookery #Rock
Elephant seals are marine mammals classified under the order Pinnipedia, which in Latin, means feather or fin footed. Elephant seals are considered true seals, and fall under the family Phocidae. Phocids (true seals) are characterized by having no external ear and reduced limbs. The reduction of their limbs helps them be more streamlined and move easily in the water. However, it makes navigating on land a bit difficult because they cannot turn their hind flippers forward to walk like the Otariids. In addition, the hind flipper of elephant seals have a lot of surface area, which helps propel them in the water. Elephant seals spend the majority of their time (90%) underwater in search of food, and can cover 60 miles a day when they head out to sea. When elephant seals are born, they can weigh up to 80 pounds and reach lengths up to 4 feet. Sexual dimorphism is prominently seen in elephant seals due to the fact that male elephant seals can weigh up to 10 times more than females. Also, the large proboscis, which is considered a secondary sexual characteristic, helps males assert dominance during mating season.
Elephant seals take their name from the large proboscis of the adult male (bull), which resembles an elephant's trunk. The bull's proboscis is used in producing extraordinarily loud roaring noises, especially during the mating season. More importantly, however, the nose acts as a sort of rebreather, filled with cavities designed to reabsorb moisture from their exhalations. This is important during the mating season when the seals do not leave the beach to feed, and must conserve body moisture as there is no incoming source of water. They are colossally large in comparison with other pinnipeds, with southern elephant seal bulls typically reaching a length of 5 m (16 ft) and a weight of 3,000 kg (6,600 lb), and are much larger than the adult females (cows), with some exceptionally large males reaching up to 6 m (20 ft) in length and weighing 4,000 kg (8,800 lb); cows typically measure about 3 m (10 ft) and 900 kg (2,000 lb). Northern elephant seal bulls reach a length of 4.3 to 4.8 m (14 to 16 ft) and the heaviest weigh about 2,500 kg (5,500 lb).
The northern and southern elephant seal can be distinguished by looking at various external features. On average, the southern elephant seal tends to be larger than the northern species. Adult male elephant seals belonging to the northern species tend to have a larger proboscis, and thick chest area with a red coloration compared to the southern species. Females do not have the large proboscis and can be distinguished between species by looking at their nose characteristics.Southern females tend to have a smaller, blunt nose compared to northern females. — at Piedras Blancas Elephant Seal Rookery.
...this laminated calendar by marking
every day by voice and touch
of vegetation outdoor, existing sum
of herbs and other flora-fauna (etc)
compiling general concert in tired
mind by ephemeral senses, sooner
vibes around and within entire Earth,
meridians and horizontal exhalation
of fresh Ozone of atmospheric-dome
and Oceanic waves is best of Songs
created by Almighty to enhancing
Souls and Minds by consonance and
prosody of sleeping clouds instead
of triviality of words...
The silence of palette's ubiquity
in its entirety as entourage since
bravery of Caves and Stone Age
without doubts resists to Wind
as dialect of Rain & Frost each
season celebrating change, &
days to nights... just listen to the
Water's flow composing melody
of April's streams at Spring
of Lunar disc persistent, slow
& invisible to eye rotation of
magnetic & gravitation spin
among abyssal minuses of ( -273*F)
of daily Cosmic cold.. Alas.
Without question mind adopts all
agile crowds at streets & galleries, &
parks & shows, all squeaks of paroxysmal
brakes, & race through serpentine of roads,
& rails, platforms & parapets, & subway's
tracks - all fuss invoked summation being
young, a-kaleidoscopic swirl of streaks,
& glares - sublimed reality of Flemish Art
extended seamless to grotesque of Cluster's
buzz: a shiny carnival of vanished ghosts,
all seasons masquerade in midst of East plus
all existed Sides, lets us to say in some
abbreviated city, town, or even villages
abundant far around, and near-by as
urban Clusters, whilst & without pinch
of enigmatic apex of Venetian's ado &
shabby charm along submerged canals,
gondolas, waters, such blurred by scenic
lights, all those years of shuttered dreams.
...presumably I was by glittery of dreams
attached to nights of rainy streets and is
consumed by neon lights, transforming
mind into extension of ideal as reason
to believe in purposely applied utility of
vain attempts by definition, & this
ideal as stimuli attracts and nurtures mind
before and after failed attempts, & sadness,
memory, as tiny whisper of localized all
ups-&-downs of urban Life by iris opened
ajar, as if myself seduced & felled in love
with B&W essays - pan-urbanism of real
life, scenarios as short-as-flash reflecting
Lights to tingling focus of celluloid films.
Through jump off timer. All left behind.
...its left bunch silver prints 16x20, B&W
indeed of candid images, as dream,
abstract versification of essays that
never was completed, or performed,
or formalized, or any print was published,
which is a bravery to sacrifice long Life
for images all dusted and forgotten.
Alas. All sixty years simply gone.
...& now through imagined timer
of thousands of frames presenting
cinematic-stop effect, by virtue of defect -
all undisputable, because too late to dream,
a challenge having back revitalize all
quasi-faucets of expressed by ephemeral
images of prints reflecting shit-boxes
chariots without horse, as taxi-passengers
in cheapen-chick a-rendezvous of their
motors all blooming like F...nch who...e,
these carousels of Clustery spasmodic nights,
these nights without sleep, or rest, psychotic
euphoria without caffeine, without
dopio-less-sugar, re-loading film in
Leica-em-3 plus Elmar, without enigma
of candid foto-walks alike before in Soviet
epoch and decorations of scenic hype
(a-La H. Cart..r-Br..son's) of surrealistic style,
essays evaporated that never was achieved
today, or - even iota of subtle dreams
in studio of Master Rick Scav...lo,
or even honesty of Legend showing to a
Cluster nue and fashion flux, with his three
lenses in old-fashion coat, and Contaxes,
o! those Contaxes, did painting a homage
to magazine of Vo..ue, & his artistic lovely
Wife - a symbol gravitated to his Art.
... habitual concept of urbanism - abundance
of traffic lights to fuel intellect & minds
on stops in designated Cluster's, its brilliant
aspect of slowing speed of rainy-drops,
duet with drizzle, & snow-flakes of any
measure of blessed precipitation: petals',
showers, reality of Spring, or - utter Rain,
or - Pranayama as personal effect
of endless search for second's split,
by tension of annoying traffic's light,
by speed of pounding hearty-beats in foggy
resolution of sculpture figurine along alleys
in Cluster's Park, again without single frame
intrinsically resulted in lights of night...