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The village of Upper Arley is on the east bank of the River Severn and until 1895 was in Staffordshire, then being transferred to Worcestershire. The existence of Upper Arley was recorded around 996 CE, but it is not clear whether as a habitation or merely as land.
Arley Ferry was certainly operating by 1323, recorded then as being pulled across by rope, but later noted as being held by a steel wire attached to another that spanned the river upstream, allowing the boat to be steered across using the current.
A variety of craft were used over the centuries, but by the 1950s the ferry was not paying its costs, with losses in the next decade considered as unsustainable. A 1969 decision was to end the life of the ferry with its replacement by a Warren truss footbridge, which opened on 22 January 1972.
It rained on every one of the twelve days we were in Scotland - maybe I’d just been lucky in those earlier visits, but I’d never seen it like this before. Last time we hiked near Glencoe, we did so in a heatwave that lasted a week. Now, a month further into the height of summer, conditions were decidedly more Baltic than Bahamian. It was cold and it was wet. Very wet. There was nothing for it but to buckle up and roll with the punches. No point in bleating about the weather - this was Scotland after all.
On the second Saturday, towards tea time we drove up through a particularly saturnine looking Glencoe, charged with threatening skies and dark intent. We’d already stopped in a layby near the bottom of the pass, and then the big car park overlooking the Three Sisters. Just to enjoy the unfolding drama as I stepped for the briefest moments into the world outside the van to take potshots at the landscape. One final stop was in my plans. One last moment of opportunism by the Glencoe waterfall near the top. And thanks to a local YouTuber whose channel had appeared as if by divine intervention in my feed a couple of months before making the trip, I had a plan of sorts. A plan that I hoped might bring a slightly lower viewing point from the one by the pull in next to the road. One that wouldn’t involve crossing the road.
Well ok I did cross the road, very carefully I might add, to take a look at the view everyone else was enjoying, just to compare it with what I hoped was lying in wait. But you really don’t cross the road in these parts without looking in each direction about a hundred and fifty times if you can avoid it. The views may be leaving jaws hanging just above the tarmac here, but this is the main route to the Western Highlands and islands and you really don’t want to be messing about with the traffic. And although I was now back on the wrong side of the road for the standard view of the waterfall, I was ready to deploy the insider hack. An improved view, and best of all, shelter from the rain. No constant battles with the rocket blower and lens cloth where I was going. Because while most trolls have kept pace with the digital revolution and now carry out their murky business from secret bunkers hidden in dark spaces at the back of the interweb, this one was strictly old school, opting instead for a rather more traditional setting; under a bridge on the A82.
What was especially pleasing was how easy the cheat route was. Sometimes you see this stuff online and it looks like a doddle. But then you make your way to the place that’s going to make life so much easier, only to arrive in front of a brand new eight foot barbed wire fence, humming with the unmistakable sound of two million volts, or a twenty metre high precipice beside a huge treacherous green sheet of rock that your guide forgot to mention. Sulkily, you end up crossing the corridor of doom two more times to stand next to the Instaselfie brigade, only to end up with an underwhelming result that never sees the light of day. But today was exactly as hoped for. There was the entrance to the magical kingdom beneath the bridge, just as I’d seen it on my screen at home, with only the smallest amount of graffiti, which I supposed had been left for decorative purposes by some previous occupant trolls.
Messaging Ali, who was as ever waiting patiently in the van, I told her I hadn’t succumbed to a thirty-eight tonne lorry and was still alive. I was reassured a few moments later to learn from her response that my continued existence on Planet Earth was “ok,” and that she wouldn’t have to drive the van all the way home to Cornwall on her own. Then I crept out of the rain and down to the sanctity of the rumbling bridge. Nobody else had found the place and this troll was happily alone without a billy goat in sight; not even a gruff one. Now I was roughly ten feet lower than everyone else who was enjoying this view, no longer on top of the waterfall, but looking more or less directly across the void towards it. The new perspective felt palpably more pleasing than the one above had, and best of all, I was dry. One or two hardy adventurers had climbed over the opposite wall on the bridge to scramble to a position right beside the top of the waterfall. Not all of them were wearing waterproofs. At least I had a diesel heater in the van to keep the chills at arm’s length later. The smugness indicator level on the back of my camera was currently hovering at the edge of the red zone.
I only needed a handful of shots to be happy enough, some of them zooming into the details, others capturing the entire majestic drop. Again, the weather conditions that had made photography so difficult over the last seven days were adding to the huge volumes of white water careering down into the shallow bowl. Had the weather been dry, this might have been little more than a trickle under harsh light in early July. The endless rains may have made hiking more bracing than it would otherwise have been, but here they were proving a formidable ally in these brief moments behind the camera. Photographically speaking at least, it was everything the troll beneath the bridge could have hoped for.
Steller sealions and a bald eagle in the background at Race Rocks.
Race Rocks is an ecological reserve, many species of both Pinnipeds and birds live there together. It is also a very rich underwater ecosystem
Swans are birds of the family Anatidae within the genus Cygnus. The swans' closest relatives include the geese and ducks. Swans are grouped with the closely related geese in the subfamily Anserinae where they form the tribe Cygnini. Sometimes, they are considered a distinct subfamily, Cygninae. There are six or seven living (and one extinct) species of swan in the genus Cygnus; in addition, there is another species known as the coscoroba swan, although this species is no longer considered one of the true swans. Swans usually mate for life, although 'divorce' sometimes occurs, particularly following nesting failure, and if a mate dies, the remaining swan will take up with another. The Northern Hemisphere species of swan have pure white plumage but the Southern Hemisphere species are mixed black and white. The Australian black swan (Cygnus atratus) is completely black except for the white flight feathers on its wings; the chicks of black swans are light grey.
The Eurasian coot (Fulica atra), also known as the common coot, or Australian coot, is a member of the rail and crake bird family, the Rallidae. It is found in Europe, Asia, Australia, New Zealand and parts of North Africa. It has a slaty-black body, a glossy black head and a white bill with a white frontal shield. The sexes are similar. The Eurasian coot is 36–38 cm in length with a wing-span of 70–80 cm; males weigh around 890 g and females 750 g. It largely black except for the white bill and frontal shield (which gives rise to the phrase as bald as a coot, in use as early as 1430). As a swimming species, the coot has partial webbing on its long strong toes. The sexes are similar in appearance.The coot breeds across much of the Old World on freshwater lakes and ponds. It occurs and breeds in Europe, Asia, Australia, and Africa. The species has recently expanded its range into New Zealand. It is resident in the milder parts of its range, but migrates further south and west from much of Asia in winter as the waters freeze.
The dusky moorhen (Gallinula tenebrosa) is a bird species in the rail family and is one of the eight extant species in the moorhen genus. It occurs in India, Australia, New Guinea, Borneo and Indonesia. It is often confused with the purple swamphen and the Eurasian coot due to similar appearance and overlapping distributions. The dusky moorhen is a medium size bird, slightly smaller than the purple swamphen. The New Guinea birds are smaller, at 25–32 centimetres in length, than the Australian race 34–38 centimetres . Adult males generally weigh on average around 570 grams and adult females 493 grams. The adult dusky moorhen is mainly dark grey-black, with a browner tinge to the upper parts. It has a red frontal shield and yellow-tipped red bill like its Eurasian relative, but lacks the white flank line shown by common moorhen, and has orange-yellow rather than yellow legs. The Australian subspecies is larger and pager than both other subspecies. The dusky moorhen is found in wetland habitats, with a preference for freshwater marshes and swamps, and are rarely found far from these areas except when foraging in nearby vegetation.
The hardhead (Aythya australis), also known as the white eyed duck, is the only true diving duck found in Australia. The common name hardhead has nothing to do with the density of the bird's skull, instead referring to the difficulty encountered by early taxidermists in processing the head. Hardheads are found in wetter, coastal regions of Australia, particularly in the south-east, but are known to disperse as far afield as New Guinea, New Zealand, and the Pacific Islands. Hardheads are common in the south-east of Australia, particularly in the Murray-Darling Basin, but also in the wetter country near the coasts. 25510
Fern Macro. Fern Kiss. Yin and Yang.
The Field Notebook say: Few living things unfold into existence with the elegance and grace of the fern. It may just be that practice makes perfect, since ferns have been unfurling themselves in spring for hundreds of millions of years.
The fern is known as the koru to the indigenous peoples of New Zealand, the Maori. The koru is often represented as a spiral in Maori artwork, symbolizing opening to new life and bringing purity to the world. It represents peace, tranquility and spirituality along with new growth or new beginnings. The Koru is also associated with nurturing and when it contains more than one frond, it represents the strength and healing of a loving relationship within family or community. The design in the shape of two unfolding fern fronds symbolizes the bonding of disparate kinds of people, with two opposite but complementary life forces, echoing the familiar Tao symbol, the Yin and Yang. As each frond unfolds to leave the circle, it reaches out for a new life, new growth and so represents the cycle of life and the interdependency of the web of life.
500px.com/photo/109656397/fern-frond-unfolding-~-ferns-ki...
Keep together! Don‘t fight against each other! We all sitting in One boat. The only Solution can be doing the Right thing to rescue our existence!
The bearded old man emerged from nothingness, his wide wings sprawling like black sails, cutting through the pale clouds. His crimson head represented a drop of hot blood in a cold landscape, his eyes bearing a history of unity and victory. He descended to declare his dominance over this colony.Below him, where his eyes descended, the truth of time was revealed in stark contrast: towering cedar trees breathing greenery, living testaments to the inextinguishable power of life, standing next to dry, crooked trunks, bare wooden ruins, like arms succumbing to the horror of the years and the tattoo of time's curse. With every flapping of his wings, the silent predator announced his loud, complete presence. His story with these mysterious atmospheres and with the ancient cedars is far from over. It is the spirit of the place that has not grown old, descending to tell again tales that no one else dared to whisper.
Behold that world.
A jewel of existence, teeming with life, radiant in its splendor.
Azure oceans flowing across its surface, framed by the lush green of distant lands, all tinted by the ancient hues of the planet's timeless beauty.
A beautiful picture indeed.
Maybe I should wait and contemplate this a little longer.
A century?… or perhaps two more.
No. It matters not.
For in the end, beauty is but a fleeting shadow, and all things must fade to ash.
The very fabric of the universe will crumble to dust, in time.
So why wait? What for? It's just delaying the inevitable.
Enough of this idle reverie.
The moment has come.
This world shall burn and succumb too.
To the frenzy of Midra's flame.
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These two Icons came into existence at the same time to celebrate the worlds fair held in Seattle in 1962. The Space Needle and the Monorail have both served as reminders of the big event and are still two of the iconic attractions the city has to offer.
Thanks for stopping in and have a great Easter weekend. I'll be catching up with everyone in the next few days.
Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day!
For it is Life, the very Life of Life.
In its brief course lie all the
Verities and Realities of your Existence.
The Bliss of Growth,
The Glory of Action,
The Splendor of Beauty;
For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived makes
Every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day!
Such is the Salutation of the Dawn!
- Kalidasa
Chester owes its existence as a city and its plan to the Romans who established the legionary fortress of Deva in AD 76 in an advantageous position close to the Welsh mountains on a raised outcrop at the lowest bridging point on the River Dee.
Sakharibazar, Old Dhaka, 2011
Normal people with extraordinary lifestyles
Along with smile and the gloomy, here life has its own rhyme, has its own colour.
Time passed by, humanity changed along with its history...
But these people remained here tolerating the hardest truth of existences
..........its their story of extraordinary existences.
Sakharibazar, Old Dhaka. A very interesting place for all of us to visit. Culture and customs of old Dhaka are the tribute to the ancient history of Bangladesh. Peoples still living in 100 years old building from generations after generations. With the reflection of their religious beauty Old Dhaka attracts peoples from here and abroad.
Shakhari Bazaar is one of the oldest mohallas (a traditional neighbourhood) in Puran Dhaka (Old Dhaka), located near the intersection of Islampur Road and Nawabpur Road;the two main arteries of the old city and only a block away from the Buriganga River. Shakhari Bazaar stretches along a narrow lane, lined with thin slices of richly decorated brick buildings, built during the late Mughal or Colonial period. Despite rampant modifications, accretion, extension over time, even redevelopment, many still bear the testimony of a rich tradition.
Shakhari Bazaar is the manifestation of the irrational policies, lack of adequate development control rules and distorted legal framework, all of which have left their indelible mark on this precious little mohalla that shares a long history of more than 400 years with Dhaka city itself.The history of Shakhari Bazaar goes back to the pre-Mughal days if not earlier. The first mention of Puran Dhaka can be found in the writings of Mirza Nathan, the general turned historian, who traveled with Subahdar Islam Khan. He mentioned Puran Dhaka, as the area between Dholai Khal and Buriganga river covering Shakhari Bazaar, Tanti Bazaar, Bangla Bazaar, Lakhsmi Bazaar, Bangla Bazaar, Kamar Nagar, Sutar Nagar, Goala Nagar, etc. Each mohalla belonged to separate communities depending on their craft and trade. The influences of the Mughal vocabulary in the planning of the spaces are literally evident in the use of Persian names to identify different spaces..
Look at the trees, look at the birds, look at the clouds, look at the stars... and if you have eyes you will be able to see that the whole existence is joyful. : Osho
I thank you God for this most amazing day...
Looking Close... on Friday: Jewelry on Paper Background
I'm afraid Capucine has discovered the existence of a new toy: jewels. Chains seem to be particularly entertaining. *Sighs.*
New set of wings with a more sinister feel than my past ones. Crimson red feathers, rhinestone eyed skull accent. Available currently for half the price of my classic wings (through Halloween). Only at the *BOOM* Main store on Existence.
Life, a serious story one try to live as foolishly as possible -
Paste up by Fred Le Chevalier - Paris
Ask me what in love in this life. Answer is you … The best in the world.
Looking at my life time Love …. Love is still sweet and endless.
All because of you …… My existence is because of you !!
Last night while watching The Handmaid's Tale, I was struck (blown away, actually) by the cinematographic image of June walking up the spiral staircase at the Waterford home in blue tones--the only contrast being the lamp at the top of the stairs, and June's handmaid dress and white cap. So I tried to capture it on pause, but was unable to pause without the pause indicators obstructing the screen image. This was the next best thing I could manage (hence the movement blur of June walking up the stairs). It was so evocative, I just had to try to capture it!
The picture is a story of fishing on the seashore. The fishermen keep getting the net and after a long time drag the net to the shore. It is a very difficult task which can be understood through the eyes of the fishermen. After working so hard, their joy knows no bounds when they get a lot of fish. Their struggle for existence continued for years. I tried to capture their hard work on my camera.
These weeds have been the bane of my existence for the last few days. But before yanking them all out, I decided to take a closer look at the flowers with my camera. They look better when viewed like this. (and a little post processing)
The shadow of the Columbia Icefield Skywalk
sweeps across a sheer cliff.
"There is no Sun without Shadow ....
—Albert Camus
"Impermanence is a mark of existence.
The suffering it causes can be overcome with mindfulness."
—Buddhist teaching
Happy Shadow Saturday!
Seeing the world in black and white can offer a certain simplicity, like an old photograph capturing moments in stark contrast. It strips away the nuances, leaving behind a clarity that can be comforting. Yet, it's an incomplete portrayal of life's rich tapestry. Life, with its myriad shades of gray, is a symphony of complexities, emotions, and experiences. It's the vibrant hues that give depth to our existence, the subtle gradients that shape our understanding, and the colorful spectrum that makes every story uniquely human. While black and white may offer clarity, it's in embracing life's full spectrum that we truly appreciate its depth and beauty.
It went something like this, if memory serves me right
the details derail themselves from reality
for I only recall such things upon waking
as if still entranced by deepest sleepbeats
sounded-out by the glint of morning breaking
dreams are often the energy mix for reality's song
routine the old discarded 7" now a hot auction piece
if only I could remember it's damned name
all would be well with the world, wouldn't it?
life could be lived better, and where I belong remains the same??
the compromise between a dream and it's wide-awakeness
exhilarates beyond consciousness
it's agreement disentangles the life we perceive,
exhumes ghosts of our forgotten worlds,
re-examines the realms of all we've come to believe
give us the Earth and you bring the fire
show us life and you will feel the pain of death
meet the people and you will encounter war
take my hand you will touch but a pulse of my world
for all this how much do we want it anymore
palliation is the now the sum of all human parts
for every time we look up, we must now hold our heads and beg
those that have it all grow decadent and stoop in their greed
nothing left to revere for they worship the god of inestimable dishonesty
these ill-gotten gains make the 'rains' that fail so many mouths to feed
click here to continue, if your mouse will, the cats curiosity may kill -
those inhibitions of yore, for going against the modern grain
there is so much unnatural pain in the World, can't you see!!
where medicines fail is a failing in human recognition
we as a species are becoming untreatable where truth can no longer be
how we desert nature's post, and shoot at dawn the hero who saves us
in our sleep we see, in our subconscious mind we know
the waking hour still has lingering belief,
but the wide-awake human is a devilish miser
one destined for nothing but a life of horror and grief
unless...unless...if time allows, if the Soul can still arouse
a permit for the senses, a visa for the faith of cultural embrace
a bureaucratic bonfire at which we warm torn hearts at the hands of administrative nightmares
the ashes of which will document recycled political ways of reforming our madness
for the lifetime of a heart affords a love of which there is no-one it spares
weapons never suited the people who possess them
forever lost in translation waving such arms like cash for honours
the greatest missile ever fired was the one spoken to betray our spirit
it's corrupting influence still scars the land with each footstep taken
it's now a standard pretext for the 'conversion' of successive rôles we inherit
now, if I remember clearly, my dream told me I could live differently
it went, something like this...if the future serves me right
that imagination is an attempt to offer such errors a way out
the deeper the dream the wider the imaginative escape path
for the dream is certain of one thing, that in reality our existence is in doubt.
by anglia24
10h45: 17/05/2008
©2008anglia24