Location ° At The Green Story °

🎼🎶▶️ ::: A R I Z O N A - Hanging On :::

I've just been hangin' 'round

Waitin' for the break of day

And I forget lots of things

But some things never fade away

Oh, and memories like highways in my mind

Whoa, and I've been burnin' rubber every night

I'm hangin' on

Still hangin' on

Some days go passin' by

Oh, some nights, I'll be doing fine

Other nights, I'm terrified

Cold as ice when I wake up

In a fevered sweat twenty times

I'm hangin' on

Still hangin' on

I think the most fevered part of the migration is over, and they're settling in for the summer. And BTW, I like the sort of soft light you get with high clouds.

Village Homes, Davis. April, 2020. Social distancing observed while exercising outdoors as is legal.

HSS!

A lone girl stands along the Hong Kong waterfront, wrapped in winter light and a coat that seems a size too hopeful. Behind her, the skyline dissolves into haze—glass and metal stacked like unfinished thoughts—while the harbor glitters with the kind of brightness that makes you squint at your own longing.

There’s a stillness in the way she holds herself, as if she’s waiting for someone or deciding whether to keep walking. Her shadow stretches toward the camera like a question, soft and unhurried, out of place against the fevered pulse of the city behind her.

Sometimes Hong Kong roars.

Sometimes it whispers.

Today, it chose silence.

We did a stay in the Car visit again and seen 3 Grand Kids, one G- Kid was visiting too ! Nice !! Soon we hope we can hug them again, one shot in the Arm, one more to go !!!!

Robert Plant - „Big Log“

www.youtube.com/watch?v=FxSsol3Zd7k

My love is in league with the freeway

Its passion will rise as the cities fly by

And the tail lights dissolve in the coming of night

And the questions and thousands take flight

My love is miles in awaiting

The eyes that just stare and the glance at the clock

In the secret that burns and the pain that won't stop

And it's fueled with the years

Leading me on (leading me on)

Leading me down the road

Driving me on (driving me on)

Driving me down the road

My love is exceeding the limit

Red eyed and fevered with the hum of the miles

Distance and longing, my thoughts do collide

Should I rest for a while at the side?

Your love is cradled in knowing

Eyes in the mirror still expecting their prey

Sensing too well when the journey is done

There is no turning back, no

There is no turning back on the run

My love is in the league

With the freeway

Oh, with the freeway

And the coming of the night time

My love

My love is in the league with the freeway

Gawn by small @ FaMESHed

The Gawn Dress by small exists at the edge of art and desire, where fashion history and modern provocation entwine. Its styling is unapologetically body-conscious, draping like liquid flame yet revealing with the audacity of lingerie. The cut is precise and architectural — sheer panels frame the body as though carved from shadow and light, while the high, merciless slit elongates the leg with an elegance both dangerous and divine.

Historically, Gawn borrows from the 1920s flapper revolution, when hems rose in defiance and women claimed their freedom in movement and flesh. It recalls the Dior New Look of the late 1940s, cinching and shaping with sculptural precision, then strips that propriety away with transparency more akin to the 1990s slip-dress revival, when satin clung to supermodels like a second skin. Gawn distills all of these legacies — the rebellion, the elegance, the eroticism — into one modern silhouette that feels both timeless and transgressive.

The BLINN & Soft PBR shimmer ensures every step is painted in light, as though my body were being spotlighted by desire itself. Each shift of fabric is a tease, a breath away from baring everything. In this dress, I am not waiting — I am anticipating, trembling on the edge of being undone, as if Gawn were cut not to be worn, but to be peeled away in fevered urgency.

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fameshed.com/

🔗 [Visit small Mainstore]

www.flickr.com/photos/small-sl/

This is my fevered Photo, from my beloved Torres del Paine!! It had been taken out of my Photo-stream, how I don't know. Even after I had been given a case number by Yahoo, the had no answer for me and I given up looking for the photo. So 2 more photos had been lost, but I had them on CD and riposted them !

Well now I' m happy and post it again and run with it again, but I will not push it like the first time!

Now I hop, all my friends, like this photo, that I had taken with die old 35 mm film Camera!!!!!!

Thanks to all, for viewing and commenting, thank you very much !!

HAPPY

Please view on black!

Photo was taken from Hotel early in the Morning

Photo is a 35 mm Film Photo!

There is a male Goldfinch and the female Goldfinch, is the one flying !

Thank you all so much for you visits, fevered and comments !!

visiting my Daughter and Family !

@ The Imaginarium

Scent

Blue clouds gaze the wrapped sun

frozen kisses in my blood

travelling a thousand miles

to meet up with you.

There is none else walking

down this path where memories

wake up and dance

inside my armored heart.

I peeled off each kisses embrace

out of my parched lips.

I shook off the tree,

where your scent had blossomed.

Every step down this scarcely trodden path saw...

Each peel fall with helpless, damsel-like grace.

Brown leaves shone amber touched by fingers of the sun

Invasion of warmth through my greyed bony carapace.

Gentle tremors reverberate within with subtle anguish.

Sweet scented portal that took me back,

To the illusion of time where we once were...

In drunken stupor...laying under a star strewn canvas of black.

Senses that spoke of a great fantastical tale.

You are still here... In this cloying void with no one around...

Only that scent...your scent tugging on my core

Invisible tendrils berthing my feet back on ground.

Alone and wanting don't want to be anymore.

I want to feast my lungs on your skin once more.

I want to vibrate under your touch again,

In anguished anticipation and sweet pain.

I hurl your name to the echoing wind,

Blowing ferociously over the closed passage.

Only to find that I'm but elongating

the distance between our fading wishful stars.

Fading far only to find that I'm lost yet again,

Still harvesting a basket full of ripened hope.

Traversing planes with warped, slanted doorways,

Frantically seeking purchase on knobs with fevered gropes.

Heavy layered breaths inhaled too shallow...

Tracing missteps to decipher what it all meant.

When all is moot...weary, weathered and futile,

Forever I'll be bathing in the familiarity of your soothing, nectarous scent...

Tonight from your eyes’ sky

stars rain on my poem,

my fingers spark, set ablaze

the muteness of these blank pages.

My fevered, raving poem shamed by its desires,

hurls itself once again into fire, the flames’ relentless craving.

Yes, so love begins,

and though the road’s end is out of sight, I do not think of the end.

It’s the loving that I love.

Why shun darkness?

The night abounds with diamond drops. Later, jasmine’s intoxicating scent

lingers on the spent body of night.

Let me lose myself in you

till no one can find my trace. Let your dewy sigh’s fevered soul

waft over the body of my songs.

Wrapped in sleep’s silk

let me grow wings of light,

fly through its open door

beyond the world’s fences and walls.

Do you know what I want of life?

That I can be with you, you, all of you,

and if life repeated a thousand times,

still you, you, and again, you.

Concealed in me is a sea: how could I hide it?

How could I describe the typhoon inside?

I’m so filled with you

I want to run through meadows,

bash my head against mountain rocks, give myself to ocean waves.

I’m so filled with you

I want to crumble into myself like a speck of dust,

to gently lay my head at your feet,

cling fast to your weightless shadow.

Yes, so love begins,

and though the road’s end is out of sight,

I do not think of the end

for it’s the loving I so love.

Forugh Farrokhzad

The Way Love Used to Be · The Kinks

JUSTICE

For all of my days on this earth I have always struggled to feel a sense of belonging. That feeling I watch others embrace whether it be a connection with their own family, their home town... Even with their homes. I've always felt like a wanderer - not the romantic kind, the adventure-fevered Instagram craze, just that deep restless feeling of not belonging where my feet are at in the now. The acceptance and peace that I've always craved in a foundational sense of belonging. I find solace in the quiet and loneliness of the mountains. Maybe it's a sense of my own smallness, the magnitude of those dark brooding shadows. I feel comfort feeling lost in the giant space. There is no placement, no territory, no tangible sense of mine, yours, theirs. It becomes a vast space that belongs to no one. And there I am able to feel at home.

When I was a kid we went camping as often as we were able. My Dad was a forest ranger for a long time before any of us kids entered the picture. He knew many off the path type of places, the best places that no one else seemed to know about. As we'd drive up the mountain side my Dad would point out things to us, instruct us to pay attention to our surroundings. He offered a small prize to the first one to spot a wild animal. Before the days of having cell phones, or movies playing in the car, this was the best way to make time pass - our eyes would stay glued to the window in hopes of spotting a buck peering through those dark shadowy trees.

At least we'd reach the 'special place'.The spot I remember the most was a secluded site far away from other campers. There nestled into the lap of the mountain itself, the perfect clearing. So picturesque in my mind I remember it clearly. An open space full of lush scrabbles of grass and gentle wildflowers. A small creek ran through it and against all sides was the slopes of the mountain itself. It formed a frame around the upper top of the valley, like a diamond cut frame against the sky, the pine tops staggered in sharp contrast. It was here me and my older brother built a dam in the creek, also where my Dad first taught me how to weave the wildflowers into a crown. Being a forest ranger as well as a self educated biologist my Dad would point out various forms of interest. Wildflowers and all sorts of growing things, animal tracks, even animal scat. He would pay close attention to the weather, peering overhead and always pointing out a change in weather. I felt safe. Always a sense of admiration as I trotted along making mental notes about everything. Maybe it's that sense of familiarity that brings me back time and time again to the mountains - the wonder and emotion of somehow being apart of such a grand place in time. The great sense of Belonging.

Here I will cut it short for your sake, as I have rambled on quite a bit. For more pictures from this particular mountain trip (and a tiny bit more rambling, had to be honest) you can see more at my blog.

rachelbrokawphotography.com/blog/

Thank you for spending a few minutes with me. Honestly I'm surprised every time I upload that there are still people willing to support me, encourage me and most of all listen to me. Of all the places on social media Flickr is definitely my place to 'belong' and I have you to thank for that.

Much love always, Rachel

Happy Holidays ♥️ Rita

The truth about the world, he said, is that anything is possible. Had you not seen it all from birth and thereby bled it of its strangeness it would appear to you for what it is, a hat trick in a medicine show, a fevered dream, a trance bepopulate with chimeras having neither analogue nor precedent, an itinerant carnival, a migratory tentshow whose ultimate destination after many a pitch in many a mudded field is unspeakable and calamitous beyond reckoning.

The universe is no narrow thing and the order within it is not constrained by any latitude in its conception to repeat what exists in one part in any other part. Even in this world more things exist without our knowledge than with it and the order in creation which you see is that which you have put there, like a string in a maze, so that you shall not lose your way. For existence has its own order and that no man's mind can compass, that mind itself being but a fact among others.

― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West

New Hampshire, 1982. The food was holistic for the times. Great cider.

Use this link to visit my blog: Flickr Walkabout

It's an All-Flickr blog focusing on superior images I run across in my daily travels, with minimal commentary to interfere with the viewing.

Tremendous Rock In Field.

Sommer windet weiche Steine schräge Felder wandernde grüne merkwürdige Ströme erfrischende Blaulichtvisionen, die Träume fächeln,

plukken rooskleurig rood shady viooltjes zacht geel goud blisses delicaat rushy blanken brethren bloemen buigen prijst,

deatach criostail inchinn aibí áibhneacha álainn tumbling imill shúile súile nimble smaointe nádúr glóire wreathed tremulous milis blasta,

bulles chaud repos étoilé invisible lunes forêts reconnaissantes soupir des desolations chansons tremblantes arbres abandonnés glanages eaux,

enlivening lullabies romantic nightingales wondrous grasshopper's rejoicing blesses fevered pure art soothing poet suns,

奇妙なビジョンを呼吸する黙っている宝石数々の踏み板ダンススカイダンス合唱団情熱を広げて野蛮主義芽を出す芽を出す雑草波打つ翼の詩人のチャイム.

Steve.D.Hammond.

Thank you my dear Friends for your lovely Comments and fevered s !!

Mercedes Alonso, Puerto de Santa Maria, Spain 1968

Title from the poem "She Walks In Beauty" by Lord Byron.

40-50,000 ft. thunderstorm clouds over the SE can be amazing.

oceans are dreams (jhwatkins)

Oceans are dreams, that rise and fall

beyond the conscious mind.

Vast volumed vaults transitioning-

rolling ridges ranging high.

Joined with all creation,

dance-like liquid living beings-

quiet, dark depths of passion fire-

eternally careening.

Held in viscous vision,

caught between the separate worlds-

all heaven and earthy creature-

floating figured forms unfurled.

Ghosts-aglow and gaping-

gathered gremlins, timeless trails-

beyond all thought or reason-

hidden highways, watery veils.

Desperate, driven, hungry hunters-

casual commerce-bloody blades.

Liquid-larcened fathoms fallen,

fevered fits in cavalcade.

Contrasts, calm and constant-

consummation, cold desire-

carefully crushed by eons,

in vile volcanic fire.

Down some corridor they creep-

until in rest revealed-

unto the doubting dreamers-

caustic children, filled with fear.

Decision paths of plans performed,

adrift in thoughtless themes.

Gathered golden wisdom,

wrapped in scientific schemes.

Predetermined, parliamentary,

railing posted parts prevail-

racked with frail-formed falsities

in fictional detail.

Loving lost the guide unseen

that rules the changeless world-

and brings us back to view the sea

in vision's vacuumed swirl.

Childlike faith-vast beauty breathed,

an author, bold and bare-

for silence sake, stark stepping stones-

it's wealth unfolding fair.

Troll the tame and turning tide,

that flows in measured ebb.

Rolled rhythmic rows of constancy

in concentrated web.

Held hot the hidden history,

revealing holy fare-

formed fellowships and mysteries-

plain patterns painted there.

To see the unseen signature-

to touch the untouched realm-

to gaze at guardian glory...

graced...

by Starred..

Ascending..

Stair.

James watkins (April 2004)

(1 in a multiple picture album)

This scene in the high country of Tuolumne Meadows speaks to me of the tranquility found in nature. Through pandemics and world wars, through political madness, the clear waters of the Tuolumne River flow slowly and relentlessly through a land of pine and granite domes. Mother Nature provides places like this for the fevered mind to heal.

Madeira, Portugal

It´s been quite a while since I´ve been online and it will probably take a little more time to get mentally back on track. Thank you so much for the encouraging words my dear friends, this means a lot to me!

It have been some really exhausting days and nights, but I´ve learned a lot about myself, my strengths and weaknesses, about hope and fear. It´s just incredible how such an intense moment can change your perspective on life.

I will try to catch up with you guys as soon as possible. Have a great day!

‘I give you half of me;

No more, lest I should make

A ground for perjury.

For your sake, for my sake,

Half will you take?’

‘Half I’ll not take nor give,

For he who gives gives all.

By halves you cannot live;

Then let the barrier fall,

In one circle have all.’

“A wise and ancient scorner

Said to me once: Beware

The road that has no corner

Where you can linger and stare.

Choose the square.

‘And let the circle run

Its dull and fevered race.

You, my dear, are one;

Show your soul in your face;

Maintain your place.

‘Give, but have something to give.

No man can want you all.

Live, and learn to live.

When all the barriers fall

You are nothing at all.’

Edwin Muir, "Circle and Square".