View allAll Photos Tagged LilT
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month and if you add your pink photos to this group you can help to raise up to €30,000 for local charities.
For each pink photo you add to www.flickr.com/groups/pink2008, Yahoo! for Good will donate €1, up to a maximum of €30,000. We will split the total equally between 5 charities in UK, Germany, France, Spain and Italy.
- In the UK Cancer Research UK will use this donation to fund breast cancer research.
- In Germany Deutsche Krebshilfe will use this donation to fund a breast cancer project.
- In France Association Le Cancer du sein, parlons en ! will use this donation to fund screening.
- In Spain FEFOC will use this donation to fund information about prevention and detection.
- In Italy LILT will use this donation to fund breast cancer research.
from State of Florida website.
The common mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) is a superb songbird and mimic. Its own song has a pleasant lilting sound and is, at times, both varied and repetitive. Often, the mockingbird sings all night long, especially under bright springtime moonlight.
Mockingbirds are usually about ten inches in length, with a fifteen-inch wingspan, grayish upper portions, white undersides, and white patches on the tail and wings. The female has slightly less whiteness in its feathers than the male.
The mockingbird is helpful to humans because it usually feeds on insects and weed seeds. In the summer and fall, it also eats ripe berries.
The nest, a joint project of the male and female mockingbird, is a bulky, open cup of grass, twigs, and rootlets carelessly arranged in a dense tree or bush. The three to six eggs per nest are a pale blue-green with brown spots. This year-round Florida resident is known for its fierce defense of the family nest.
Senate Concurrent Resolution No. 3 of the 1927 legislative session designated the mockingbird as the state bird. Not only a Florida favorite, it is also the state bird of Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Texas.
2 Cackling Goose CACG* (Branta hutchinsii minima)
"Minima Cackler"
&
Snow Goose SNGO (Chen caerulescens)
Dang!
(clipped birds front & back are a
Canada Goose CANG* (Branta canadensis))
Sluggett Reservoir
Sluggett Farm
Maber Flats (West)
Central Saanich
BC
DSCN1664
"Our" Snow Goose was now hanging and flying with the Cacklers
DSCN1790 now spending some time roosting resting on west side of the highway
Saturday night cruising in Paprihaven. At Rummy's Freight and Repair,* a special customer has arrived. None other than John Neverjohnnie,** the fabulously wealthy and famous Paprihaven bowling pins magnate. He is accompanied by the always lilting Midge Myrtle.
Mr. Neverjohnnie has arrived with the sad news common to Rummy's customers...
Rummy: *whistles* They t-boned you. Were you in the seat there, little lady?
Midge: I wasn't, thankfully. In fact we were parked.
John: We were at Oodles of Noodles. This guy with a huge red custom rig, with a missile on the top,*** was trying to turn around in the parking lot and backed into my car.
Rummy: Oh, that guy! He totaled about six or seven cars the other night. You won't have to worry about him. Or at least his rig. Cops have it impounded.
John: I know you're always backed up, Rummy, but that's because you and your crew are the best. This is my Formula GT Roadster and I hate to see her so damaged. I don't want to trust anyone else with her but I do need it quickly.
Rummy: We always make an exception for you, Mr. Neverjohnnie. AJ, what's it look like?
AJ: We can move the Camaro out.**** If we prioritize it, we can have it ready in three to five days. I'm pretty sure we're going to need to fabricate you a door. I don't see any salvaging of this one and, if you want it in a hurry, I don't know how long it would take to find a spare Formula GT door sitting around. This is not exactly an auto you find in scrapyards.
John: Well, you have a LikeStock® fabricator, right?
Rummy: Yep. We can have you back to 'good as new' in 3 to 5.
John: Thank you. For your trouble I'll pay triple.
Rummy: Oh, well, that's not-
John: I'll pay triple.
Rummy: Much appreciated, Mr. Neverjohnnie. We'll be in touch.
AJ smiles. A rich customer like John Neverjohnnie paying triple equates to all the employees getting a bonus check. Of course they'll make room for him!
__________________________
A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.
New-Ray Toys
Warehouse
Mijo
American Diorama
Hot Wheels Crack Ups
Basher II
Stamper 2-Pack
1984, Hong Kong
Mattel
M2 Machines Model Kit
Release 33
Holley 1971 Chevrolet Camaro SS 396
2017, China
Hot Wheels Crack Ups from the way-out astounding collection of the stellar Andrew P. Yanchus!
* First seen back in BP 2020 Day 172!
www.flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/50024685612/
** John Neverjohnnie first seen back in BP 2021 Day 170!
www.flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/51258211639/
*** The Invader, as seen last week!
www.flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/52725306907/
**** Their work on the Camaro SS began in BP 2023 Day 28!
busy day today - running a few errands and the sun was shining - so much so that the flip flops made their first appearance of the year (summer has now officially begun!)
despite it being only 15c and a bit chilly.
Commentary.
Utter peace,
only broken by the lilting, gentle breeze
and a distant, echoing call of a cuckoo in the woods ahead.
Brinacory Bay, Brinacory Island but no Brinacory village.
Just a few scattered, dressed granite blocks lost in the undergrowth
mark the remains of a village community.
Lost to the landowners, cleared to far distant Imperial lands
so sheep could graze rough pasture and sapling forests.
Even this inhuman, society wrecking- tactic for short term economic gain was ironically flawed.
The relative remoteness and wildness created has brought
far greater riches from tourism than crofting or sheep could ever bring.
Maybe there is truth in old adage that “every cloud has a silver lining.”
Just a mile beyond the island the loch plunges to 1,017 feet deep.
Testament to several glaciers converging and over-deepening a previous river valley.
The rock-lip at the seaward end rose sufficiently, after the ice melted, to prevent the sea inundating the deep chasm created.
Thus, Morar never became the fjord that so many other glacial valleys became in this region.
Only intrepid hikers and mountaineers venture along these banks, far enough to reach remote Knoydart at Loch Nevis
and Sgurr na Ciche to the north, Glens Pean and Dessarry to the west, or Sgurr Thuilm and Glenfinnan to the south.
I have walked these hills.
They are a God-given sanctuary of peace.
That is the memorial to those who lost their home.
Their spirit and love for this place still blows in the wind.
The very wildness and remoteness, that their removal brought, will keep this environment unspoiled for many millennia to come!
media-sl.com/2020/08/06/new-releaselilt-outfit-new/
GIVEAWAY
➡️Become a Media SL VIP member : bit.ly/2W0AzmA
➡️Like
➡️Comment this post your SL name
➡️Follow my flickr
➡️join Media-SL.com Discord: discordapp.com/invite/GNk2qvz
join facebook giveaway to increase your chances 😉🍀
The draw will take place every Monday the winner will receive 1000L
Good luck
Commentary.
Utter peace,
only broken by the lilting, gentle breeze
and a distant, echoing call of a cuckoo in the woods ahead.
Brinacory Bay, Brinacory Island but no Brinacory village.
Just a few scattered, dressed granite blocks lost in the undergrowth
mark the remains of a village community.
Lost to the landowners, cleared to far distant Imperial lands
so sheep could graze rough pasture and sapling forests.
Even this inhuman, society wrecking- tactic for short term economic gain was ironically flawed.
The relative remoteness and wildness created has brought
far greater riches from tourism than crofting or sheep could ever bring.
Maybe there is truth in old adage that “every cloud has a silver lining.”
Just a mile beyond the island the loch plunges to 1,017 feet deep.
Testament to several glaciers converging and over-deepening a previous river valley.
The rock-lip at the seaward end rose sufficiently, after the ice melted, to prevent the sea inundating the deep chasm created.
Thus, Morar never became the fjord that so many other glacial valleys became in this region.
Only intrepid hikers and mountaineers venture along these banks, far enough to reach remote Knoydart at Loch Nevis
and Sgurr na Ciche to the north-east, Glens Pean and Dessarry to the west, or Sgurr Thuilm and Glenfinnan to the south.
I have walked these hills.
They are a God-given sanctuary of peace.
That is the memorial to those who lost their home.
Their spirit and love for this place still blows in the wind.
The very wildness and remoteness, that their removal brought, will keep this environment unspoiled for many millennia to come! (I hope.)
I can hear his lovely and lilting song right now...
Please RIGHT CLICK then OPEN IN NEW TAB
www.lewis-clark.org/content/content-article.asp?ArticleID...
Commentary.
Utter peace,
only broken by the lilting, gentle breeze
and a distant, echoing call of a cuckoo in the woods ahead.
Brinacory Bay, Brinacory Island but no Brinacory village.
Just a few scattered, dressed granite blocks lost in the undergrowth
mark the remains of a village community.
Lost to the landowners, cleared to far distant Imperial lands
so sheep could graze rough pasture and sapling forests.
Even this inhuman, society wrecking- tactic for short term economic gain was ironically flawed.
The relative remoteness and wildness created has brought
far greater riches from tourism than crofting or sheep could ever bring.
Maybe there is truth in old adage that “every cloud has a silver lining.”
Just a mile beyond the island the loch plunges to 1,017 feet deep.
Testament to several glaciers converging and over-deepening a previous river valley.
The rock-lip at the seaward end rose sufficiently, after the ice melted, to prevent the sea inundating the deep chasm created.
Thus, Morar never became the fjord that so many other glacial valleys became in this region.
Only intrepid hikers and mountaineers venture along these banks, far enough to reach remote Knoydart at Loch Nevis
and Sgurr na Ciche to the north, Glens Pean and Dessarry to the west, or Sgurr Thuilm and Glenfinnan to the south.
I have walked these hills.
They are a God-given sanctuary of peace.
That is the memorial to those who lost their home.
Their spirit and love for this place still blows in the wind.
The very wildness and remoteness, that their removal brought, will keep this environment unspoiled for many millennia to come!
I recently planted three different colors of calla lilies in my old wheelbarrow up near the carport! I DO hope they will flourish!
With its lovely, lilting song, the Grey Butcherbird may not seem to be a particularly intimidating species. However, with its strong, hooked beak and its fierce stare, the Grey Butcherbird is not a bird to be messed with. When a nest or newly fledged chick is around, if you venture too close, a butcherbird will swoop by flying straight at your face, sometimes striking with enough force to draw blood, and each swoop is accompanied by a loud, maniacal cackle.
The adult Grey Butcherbird has a black crown and face and a grey back, with a thin white collar. The wings are grey, with large areas of white and the underparts are white. The grey and black bill is large, with a small hook at the tip of the upper bill. The eye is dark brown and the legs and feet are dark grey. Both sexes are similar in plumage, but the females are slightly smaller than the males. Young Grey Butcherbirds resemble adults, but have black areas replaced with olive-brown and a buff wash on the white areas. The bill is completely dark grey and often lacks an obvious hook. They are sometimes mistaken for small kingfishers.
Grey Butcherbirds are aggressive predators. They prey on small animals, including birds, lizards and insects, as well as some fruits and seeds. Uneaten food may be stored in the fork or a branch or impaled. Grey Butcherbirds sit on an open perch searching for prey which, once sighted, they pounce on. Most mobile prey is caught on the ground, though small birds and insects may be caught in flight. Feeding normally takes place alone, in pairs or in small family groups.
The Grey Butcherbird's nest is bowl-shaped, and is made of sticks and twigs, lined with grasses and other soft fibres. It is normally located within 10 m of the ground. The eggs are incubated by the female and the young birds are fed by both parents. The young birds will remain in the breeding territory for about a year, and help the parents raise the young of the following season.
Grey Butcherbirds have almost frontal vision, much like a raptor. This kind of vision helps them find their prey. Look out for them perching above areas you have just dug up in the garden, looking for grubs or other unearthed bugs.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
There are two forms of White-throated Sparrow, the brightly patterned white-striped and the duller tan-striped. The song of both variants is a lovely lilting whistle. White-throated sparrows are my favorite sparrow and I never tire of hearing them sing. Wildwood Park, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
I was five years old the first time I ever played the piano. My combined fingers barely spanned a full chord. My world was small, and the unknown awaiting me on the polished bench was immense. My innocence was such that I believed I could evoke the same music as I heard in the dance studio, the lilting sounds we twirled to four days a week. But my faith in the possibility of the music fell to pieces around me as I banged on the keys to no avail. Hard as i tried, I couldn't find the beauty in the discordant sounds produced by those deceivingly immaculate white keys. After that, I didn't even dare to venture my small fingers onto the forbidding black keys. If the noise inside the white ones was so dark, I couldn't imagine the harsh melodies the black ones would bring.
It was the beginning of a long series of losses. We are never more innocent than in that time where we believe in the world to give us unconditional understanding and love. That time when the world has unconditional faith in us. We were the greatest composers, the best doctors, the bravest firefighters. We were the princesses, and the paupers. We saved the world from our playrooms, and in turn, the world saved us. Sheltered us from the harsher realities of life. We didn't know that world yet, but every moment brought us closer to it. Every tear we cried, every dreamed we dreamed, everything we ever lost, all to bear us into that real world, where the music inside the white keys was just dark as what we expected from the black ones.
Sometimes those moments were happy ones, sometimes that loss of innocence, brought us joy. Six years old, riding a bike for the first time. Your dad lets go, and suddenly, you’re on your own. Sometimes you make it, sometimes you don't. But you bear the scars with pride.
Sometimes innocence is taken from us in a way the world cannot explain, in a way that rips your understanding apart, leaving you alone, in a place too vast for you and your small universe to comprehend.
And sometimes that loss has no meaning it all. It’s not the disappointment held inside the white keys, it’s not the fear of the black keys. It’s silence. There’s no music at all.
And this, this is the biggest loss of all. It’s the end, of the beginnings. We hold onto our innocences so tightly, the loss of this last one leaves us empty. We believe, naively, that our innocence protects us. Once we lose that, the truth is laid bare, and our faith in the meaning behind it all fades quickly. Without that, it’s the end. I held onto that ending for a long time.
Because as all those little innocences were lost to me, I let myself grow accustomed to the void left in their wake. But I guess that’s the nature of innocence, to leave us vulnerable, exposed, so that we can finally face that reality we always evaded as children.
But we cannot sit stagnant in that reality either. Life won’t let us. We move on, whether we like it or not. We find beauty in places we expect it, and places we don't. We leave our footsteps in places unexplored, immense, and on the path most traveled. We fall in love with the world again. We understand the science behind the white keys and the black keys, and still find solace in the music they bring us. We rediscover innocence in ways we never had before, and it brings us comfort. And that’s all we can ask, at the end of the day. To fall in love, to discover solace where we thought it was lost. To be comforted. To feel innocent again.
But sometimes, I wish i could tell that little girl approaching the piano bench for the first time, not to strike those white keys. I wish i could tell her, years later, not to lose herself in those black keys.
Commentary
Utter peace,
only broken by the lilting, gentle breeze
and a distant, echoing call of a cuckoo in the woods ahead.
Brinacory Bay, Brinacory Island but no Brinacory village.
Just a few scattered, dressed granite blocks lost in the undergrowth mark the remains of a village community.
Lost to the landowners, cleared to far distant Imperial lands
so sheep could graze rough pasture and sapling forests.
Even this inhuman, society wrecking- tactic for short term economic gain was ironically flawed.
The relative remoteness and wildness created has brought
far greater riches from tourism than crofting or sheep could ever bring.
Maybe there is truth in old adage that “every cloud has a silver lining.”
Just a mile beyond the island the loch plunges to 1,017 feet deep.
Testament to several glaciers converging and over-deepening a previous river valley.
The rock-lip at the seaward end rose sufficiently, after the ice melted, to prevent the sea inundating the deep chasm created.
Thus Morar never became the fjord that so many other glacial valleys became in this region.
Only intrepid hikers and mountaineers venture along these banks, far enough to reach remote Knoydart at Loch Nevis
and Sgurr na Ciche to the north, Glens Pean and Dessarry to the west, or Sgurr Thuilm and Glenfinnan to the south.
I have walked these hills.
They are a God-given sanctuary of peace.
That is the memorial to those who lost their home.
Their spirit and love for this place still blows in the wind.
The very wildness and remoteness that their removal brought will keep this environment unspoiled for many millennia to come!
Photographs and Memories
Jim Croce
www.youtube.com/watch?v=48o5rCFFxh8
'Photographs and memories'
The colour pictures show the morning of 16th June 1976. We went to Leeds station and as far as I knew it was to watch the 'Leeds Executive' train leaving, hauled by one of my favourite 'Deltic' locomotives.
Then we got on the train, my parents telling me we were travelling to the first stop. The top left picture shows the excitement of my sister and myself at finding out we were going on our first ever trip to London! This was unbelievable for me, I'd seen the trains leaving for the capital hundreds of times and always dreamed of making the journey!
It's not apparent from the pictures, but the denim jacket that I'm wearing had a Deltic embroidered on the back, each time I 'cabbed' a Deltic mum added its name underneath! How cool was I as a kid;-)
The lower picture shows us stood outside of London King's Cross station on a baking hot day, the summer of '76 was one to remember for the drought conditions we had.
The background picture isn't from the day, but shows a Deltic locomotive, 55002, leaving Leeds on the final Yorkshire Pullman train, a photograph that appeared in the Yorkshire Post newspaper. For the record, the Deltic we had was 55008 The Green Howards.
To me, photographs often bring back really happy memories. I can almost smell the bacon and eggs from the restaurant car as I write! It's funny too what distant memories drift back into mind, anyone remember 'Lilt', with its 'totally tropical taste'? I'm pretty sure that was new in the shops that year!
With music lilting through the night air
our inhibitions melted with the setting sun.
Life awakens as Spring warms over the land
and we emerge from our Winter dens.
- a fragment
#BreakFreeWithOMSystem, #Buffalo, #buffalove, #DxOLabs, #DxOPhotoLab, #flow, #flowartist, #flowarts, #hoop, #HoytLake, #igersbuffalo, #inthebuff, #m43ftw, #microfourthirdsgallery, #Mono, #monochrome, #NikCollection, #NY, #om-d, #spin, #street, #streetperformers, #streetphotography, #Summer, #toned, #OriginalWork
#ccwelcome
Sede LILT di Biella un’architettura moderna che attira l’occhio, con il suo rivestimento in cotto fiorentino in particolare nella notte.
Non potevo esimermi da questo scatto, anche se purtroppo non qualitativamente buono per la eccessiva grana dovuta agli ISO elevati per la mia macchina e lo scatto fatto a mano libera… ritenterò con il cavalletto.
- Enroute from Thessalon to Chapleau, Ontario, Canada -
Fern Hill
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and
cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was
air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the
nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking
warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
(Dylan Thomas)
Please see first comment for a couple more 'green and golden.'
Utter peace,
only broken by the lilting, gentle breeze
and a distant, echoing call of a cuckoo in the woods ahead.
Brinacory Bay, Brinacory Island but no Brinacory village.
Just a few scattered, dressed granite blocks lost in the undergrowth mark the remains of a village community.
Lost to the landowners, cleared to far distant Imperial lands
so sheep could graze rough pasture and sapling forests.
Even this inhuman, society wrecking- tactic for short term economic gain was ironically flawed.
The relative remoteness and wildness created has brought
far greater riches from tourism than crofting or sheep could ever bring.
Maybe there is truth in old adage that “every cloud has a silver lining.”
Just a mile beyond the island the loch plunges to 1,017 feet deep.
Testament to several glaciers converging and over-deepening a previous river valley.
The rock-lip at the seaward end rose sufficiently, after the ice melted, to prevent the sea inundating the deep chasm created.
Thus Morar never became the fjord that so many other glacial valleys became in this region.
Only intrepid hikers and mountaineers venture along these banks, far enough to reach remote Knoydart at Loch Nevis
and Sgurr na Ciche to the north, Glens Pean and Dessarry to the west, or Sgurr Thuilm and Glenfinnan to the south.
I have walked these hills.
They are a God-given sanctuary of peace.
That is the memorial to those who lost their home.
Their spirit and love for this place still blows in the wind.
The very wildness and remoteness that their removal brought will keep this environment unspoiled for many millennia to come!
Last week was amazing!
As the calendar advances, I am gratefully aware of how my feminized body is becoming one with my spirit. From the constant lilt of perfume on my wrist to the adoring thoughts of New Years Eve kissing, and sweet Valentine’s wishes, I am finally approaching the reality of sharing myself as a woman. I have never been more open to intimately connecting with other souls socially or romantically in my life.
A beautiful something happens when I don’t see a reflection of my old self in a mirror, on my phone, or social media. It’s a new will to live. I am finally claiming my first real chance to live life instead looking for a corner to hide! With every soft curvy change, I am choosing health first and looking forward to savoring every day as a woman.
For my entire life I have focused on the curse of attainment to provide a divisive solace to gender dysphoria. Even though I excelled in most stations and even overcame living alone at 15 years old, I still systematically let myself down. So it took half a lifetime to emancipate in 2012....That’s ok!!! Logically and emotionally I have accepted these facts as I moved the needle to true north on October 12th, the day my associate and I survived a four car pile up.
Life has never been easy for me, always living in fear, nervously hiding my true self, without sharing a full authentic expression. Moving forward as a transgender woman I most likely will be subject to social, economic, and medical cruelty. That’s NOT ok. As long as stay healthy I’ll fight but at least I won’t be hiding any more.
Saidpur Village, Pakistan. Lilting sounds of the rubarb drifted through the still evening air, soothing our souls with distant remembrances...
Un nuovo modo di fare edilizia, schermare lo stabile con tapparelle in cotto fiorentino, risultato un nuovo concetto di design nel campo dell’edilizia, ma più di tutto una elevata protezione dai raggi solari per rendere i locali freschi d’estate e per non disperdere il calore d’inverno.
Oltre consentire uno scatto un po’ pazzo per gli amanti della fotografia fuori dalle righe.
Facciata della nuova sede della Lilt di Biella vista a modo mio.
Vogliamo il LAYOUT vecchio della nostra Photo pagina"
Entra in questo gruppo e posta con questo logo di protesta
I Agree, I Am With You!
Please tag with "We want the old layout on Flickr"