View allAll Photos Tagged October11
At dawn I recite the rules of love upon
His ears, and he embraces me longingly.
At eventide I sing to him the song of
Hope, and then print smooth hisses upon
His face; I am swift and fearful, but he
Is quiet, patient, and thoughtful. His
Broad bosom soothes my restlessness.
-Khalil Gibran
The G2 auroral storm of October 11/12, 2021 with the curtains exhibiting a horizontal "dunes" structure. This was from home in southern Alberta.
This is with the TT Artisan circular 7.5mm fish-eye lens at f/2, on the Canon R6 at ISO 1600 for 15 seconds.
This is the stag who has made several attacks on people (including me) in Bushy Park, and been given the nickname in the title. I really have to say that the park in my opinion isn't big enough for all the deer, plus the number of people that last weekend's hot weather drew there. Unlike Richmond Park they don't have so mush open space to get away from people and they are obviously more aggressive and unpredictable in the rutting season..
I visited Bushy Park for the first time last Sunday and really got too close here that I could actually see the flies buzzing around him. Half an hour later I was trying to video him but with another stag and some hinds around he had enough. See the resulting video here. 15 minutes later he attacked another man who was just walking on the path with his wife unaware of the deer's agitation. Though the man could walk away, he was injured on the head and an ambulance was called. If you are going to watch the stag in rut season, please be careful. I'll keep a more respectful distance after a very lucky escape. In case any one saw the story in the 'mail' with the photos of the stag attacking a woman, that was an earlier incident and not me :) I have a lot more deer shots to come.
Daytime moon - handheld.
As I haven't had much time to play this is the first time I tried a manual setting on my new SX 40. It was very awkward to make adjustments particularly when using the viewfinder. This is disappointing since the S5 manual settings were so easy to use.
The shot below was either on 'P' or 'Auto' and that gave fairly good results too.
"I loved thee, gentle moon! thou wert to me
Brother and sister and companion--all
My kin, while standing on the silent lea
I watch'd thy glory in the starry hall;
And thy white beams like shower of diamonds fall
Upon the azure desert; lovely light,
Sure thou wert fashion'd, when Sin's fatal pall
Was flung o'er earth, to welcome her flight
The lone and weary soul that journeys through the night."
~ Dugald Moore, 1805-1841 ~
From "To the Moon"
A long tale ... with a message... I'd never read it before so I've shared it in its entirety here.
"The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane
and looked out
at the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of
the square
glistened like mica. In the trees, a breeze danced and
pranced,
and shook drops of sunlight like falling golden coins into the brown
water
of the canal. Down stream slowly drifted a long string
of galliots
piled with crimson cheeses. The little boy thought they
looked as if
they were roc's eggs, blocks of big ruby eggs. He said,
"Oh!" with delight,
and pressed against the window with all his might.
The golden cock on the top of the `Stadhuis' gleamed. His
beak was open
like a pair of scissors and a narrow piece of blue sky was wedged
in it.
"Cock-a-doodle-do," cried the little boy. "Can't you
hear me
through the window, Gold Cocky? Cock-a-doodle-do! You
should crow
when you see the eggs of your cousin, the great roc." But
the golden cock
stood stock still, with his fine tail blowing in the wind.
He could not understand the little boy, for he said "Cocorico"
when he said anything. But he was hung in the air to
swing, not to sing.
His eyes glittered to the bright West wind, and the crimson cheeses
drifted away down the canal.
It was very dull there in the big room. Outside in the
square, the wind
was playing tag with some fallen leaves. A man passed,
with a dogcart
beside him full of smart, new milkcans. They rattled
out a gay tune:
"Tiddity-tum-ti-ti. Have some milk for your tea. Cream
for your coffee
to drink to-night, thick, and smooth, and sweet, and white,"
and the man's sabots beat an accompaniment: "Plop! trop!
milk for your tea.
Plop! trop! drink it to-night." It was very pleasant
out there,
but it was lonely here in the big room. The little boy
gulped at a tear.
It was queer how dull all his toys were. They were so
still.
Nothing was still in the square. If he took his eyes
away a moment
it had changed. The milkman had disappeared round the
corner,
there was only an old woman with a basket of green stuff on her
head,
picking her way over the shiny stones. But the wind pulled
the leaves
in the basket this way and that, and displayed them to beautiful
advantage.
The sun patted them condescendingly on their flat surfaces, and
they seemed
sprinkled with silver. The little boy sighed as he looked
at his disordered
toys on the floor. They were motionless, and their colours
were dull.
The dark wainscoting absorbed the sun. There was none
left for toys.
The square was quite empty now. Only the wind ran round
and round it,
spinning. Away over in the corner where a street opened
into the square,
the wind had stopped. Stopped running, that is, for it
never
stopped spinning. It whirred, and whirled, and gyrated,
and turned.
It burned like a great coloured sun. It hummed, and buzzed,
and sparked,
and darted. There were flashes of blue, and long smearing
lines of saffron,
and quick jabs of green. And over it all was a sheen
like a myriad
cut diamonds. Round and round it went, the huge wind-wheel,
and the little boy's head reeled with watching it. The
whole square
was filled with its rays, blazing and leaping round after one another,
faster and faster. The little boy could not speak, he
could only gaze,
staring in amaze.
The wind-wheel was coming down the square. Nearer and
nearer it came,
a great disk of spinning flame. It was opposite the window
now,
and the little boy could see it plainly, but it was something more
than the wind which he saw. A man was carrying a huge
fan-shaped frame
on his shoulder, and stuck in it were many little painted paper
windmills,
each one scurrying round in the breeze. They were bright
and beautiful,
and the sight was one to please anybody, and how much more a little
boy
who had only stupid, motionless toys to enjoy.
The little boy clapped his hands, and his eyes danced and whizzed,
for the circling windmills made him dizzy. Closer and
closer
came the windmill man, and held up his big fan to the little boy
in the window of the Ambassador's house. Only a pane
of glass
between the boy and the windmills. They slid round before
his eyes
in rapidly revolving splendour. There were wheels and
wheels of colours --
big, little, thick, thin -- all one clear, perfect spin. The
windmill vendor
dipped and raised them again, and the little boy's face was glued
to the window-pane. Oh! What a glorious, wonderful
plaything!
Rings and rings of windy colour always moving! How had
any one ever preferred
those other toys which never stirred. "Nursie, come quickly. Look!
I want a windmill. See! It is never still. You
will buy me one, won't you?
I want that silver one, with the big ring of blue."
So a servant was sent to buy that one: silver, ringed
with blue,
and smartly it twirled about in the servant's hands as he stood
a moment
to pay the vendor. Then he entered the house, and in
another minute
he was standing in the nursery door, with some crumpled paper on
the end
of a stick which he held out to the little boy. "But
I wanted a windmill
which went round," cried the little boy. "That is the
one you asked for,
Master Charles," Nursie was a bit impatient, she had mending to
do.
"See, it is silver, and here is the blue." "But it is
only a blue streak,"
sobbed the little boy. "I wanted a blue ring, and this
silver
doesn't sparkle." "Well, Master Charles, that is what
you wanted,
now run away and play with it, for I am very busy."
The little boy hid his tears against the friendly window-pane. On
the floor
lay the motionless, crumpled bit of paper on the end of its stick.
But far away across the square was the windmill vendor, with his
big wheel
of whirring splendour. It spun round in a blaze like
a whirling rainbow,
and the sun gleamed upon it, and the wind whipped it, until it seemed
a maze of spattering diamonds. "Cocorico!" crowed the
golden cock
on the top of the `Stadhuis'. "That is something worth
crowing for."
But the little boy did not hear him, he was sobbing over the crumpled
bit of paper on the floor."
~ Amy Lowell, 1874-1925 ~
I took this at my sister's birthday party on Lake Keowee is South Carolina. It was as if God was looking down and blessing her with a wonderful day!
An entire new world is opening..............
A little make-up goes a long, long way, especially when a child is inspired to take part in the theatrical workshops at Hummingbird; from the streets to the theatre!
Here, Everton takes on the role of Patinho (Duckling) in a play conceived and performed entirely by the children called Emily and her Magical Toys, where children’s rights were the motivating factor and where their inspirational source came from, amongst others, Brazil's probably most important author of children's literature; Monteiro Lobato.
Follow the series: Once upon a time...
“Black Beauty”
This past weekend, I attended a photography workshop at Swan Lake in Sumter, South Carolina. I met four other photographers there, and we had an amazing time!
Swan Lake is able to boast they are the only public park in the United States to feature all eight species of swans. It was breathtaking to be able to view the swans and hear their different vocalizations. I can’t wait to go back!
To purchase wildlife and nature fine art prints, please visit my website: www.judyroyalglennphotography.com
We have been struggling with the ID on this fungus as to whether it was M. pura or M. rosea, but two mycologists have confirmed it's rosea, so we're going with that!!
Copyright© Jesús Guzmán-Moya This image is protected under International Copyright laws and may not be downloaded, reproduced, copied, transmitted or manipulated without written permission.
decided to give it a whirl for an afternoon at studio followed by a dinner party
(all remixed)
cardigan of supreme comfiness: hand-me-down from my significant other
brown jacket: h&m
plaid scarf: ross
shorts: old navy
slouchy boots: madden girl
THE TALE OF THE GOLDEN COCKEREL
"In the realm of Threeteenseventy,
Commonwealth of Thriceleventy,
Lived the famous Tsar Dadon.
Fierce he was from boyhood on,
And when scarcely more than twenty
Wrought his neighbors wrongs aplenty.
Aging now, he changed in mind,
Would give up the warlike grind
For a life serene and festive.
But his neighbors, growing restive,
Caused the grizzled Tsar alarm,
Dealing him a world of harm.
To protect the tsardom's borders
From the raids of bold marauders,
He was forced to raise and post
An unconscionable host.
Field commanders, never drowsing,
Still would scarce have finished dousing
Flames at left when, ho! at right
Hostile banners hove in sight.
These fought off, some visitation
Came by sea. The Tsar's frustration
Drove him wild enough to weep
And forgo the balm of sleep.
Who could thrive when thus infested?
So he pondered and requested
Succour from a gelding sage,
Planet-reckoner and mage;
Sent a runner to implore him
And the magus, brought before him,
From beneath his ample frock
Drew a golden weathercock.
"Let this golden bird," he chanted,
"High atop the spire be planted,
And my clever Cockerel
Be your faithful sentinel.
While there's naught of martial riot,
He will sit his perch in quiet;
Let there be on any side
Signs of war to be espied,
Of some squadron border-poaching,
Or some other ill approaching,
Straight my bird upon the dome
Will awaken, perk his comb,
Crow and veer, his ruff a-fluffing,
Point where harm is in the offing."
Rapt, the Tsar allowed the sage
Heaps of gold for ready wage.
"Such momentous boon afforded,"
He rejoiced,"shall be rewarded
By a wish, to be fulfilled
Like my own as soon as willed."
Cockerel atop the spire
Started guarding march and shire,
Scarce a danger reared its head,
Up he perked as though from bed,
Slewed about, his collar ruffled,
To that side and, wings unshuffled,
Crew aloud "Keeree-kookoo!
Reign abed, your guard is true."
Kings, the Tsar's domains investing,
Henceforth never dared molest him:
Tsar Dadon on every hand
Hurled them back by sea and land!
One year, two, the shrewd informant
Had been roosting all but dormant,
When one morning they broke in
On Dadon with fearful din.
"Tsar of ours! The realm's defender!"
Cries the household troop's commander,
"Majesty! Wake up! Alert!"
"Eh? . . .what's up? . . .Is someone hurt?"
Drawled the Tsar amid a double
Yawn, "who is this? What's the trouble?"
Answered him the Captain thus:
"Hark, the rooster's warning us;
Look below and see the people
Mill in fear, and on the steeple
See the rooster, ruffle-fleeced,
Crowing, pointing to the East."
"Up! No time to lose!" their Master
Spurred them on, "mount horses! Faster!'
Eastward thus a force he sped,
With his eldest at its head.
Cockerel gave over screaming,
And the Tsar continued dreaming.
Seven days go by and more,
But no message from the corps:
Has the march been rough or quiet-
Naught to tell it or deny it.
Cockerel goes off once more!
Tracking down the elder's corps,
Rides the younger with another
To the rescue of his brother.
Presently subsides the bird;
And again no more is heard!
And again the people, troubled,
Wait a week, their fears redoubled.
Yet again the cock is heard,
And Dadon sends out a third
Host, himself commander of it,
Though unsure what this might profit.
Day and night the columns wind,
Then it preys upon each mind:
Not a camp or battleground,
Not a warriors' burial mound,
Is encountered near or far.
"Strange and stranger," thinks the Tsar.
One week gone, the country changes,
Rising, high through hills and ranges,
Then, amid the peaks ahead,
Look! a silken tent is spread.
Wondrous hush enfolds the scene
Round the tent; a gaunt ravine
Cradles hosts in battle rent.
Now Dadon has reached the tent.. .
Staggers backward: sight appalling,
Hard before his eyes lie fallen,
Stripped of helm and armour chain,
Both his noble princes, slain,
Pierced each by the other's charge;
And their wandering mounts at large
On the mead all stamped and scored,
On the bloodied meadow-sward . . .
"Boys . . .my boys . . ." the father groaned,
"Strangled both my hawks," he moaned,
"Life is forfeit - woe is me . . .
Here were killed not two but three."
Wail of men and master merges
Soon resound with heavy dirges
Gorge and cliff, the mountain's heart
Shakes. Behold, the curtains part
On the tent. . .The prize of maidens,
Queen of Shamakhan, in radiance
Lambent like the morning star,
Quietly salutes the Tsar.
Silenced by her brilliant gaze
Like a nightbird by the day's,
Numb he stands - her sight outstuns
Aye! the death of both his sons.
Now she looked at him, beguiling,
Swept a graceful bow and, smiling,
Took his hand and drew him on
To her tent came Tsar Dadon.
At her table did she seat him,
To all sorts of victuals treat him,
And for rest his body laid
On an othman of brocade.
Thus full seven days he lavished,
All enslaved by her and ravished,
On delight and merriment
In the royal maiden's tent.
At long last, though, forth he sallied,
His surviving forces rallied,
And, the maiden in his train,
Led his army home again.
Rumor started to outspeed him,
Tales of hap and no-hap breeding . . .
Throngs of subjects small and great
Swirl beyond the city gate
Round the coach of Tsar and Empress,
Fabled Shamakhanian temptress;
Tsar Dadon salutes them there . . .
All at once he is aware
Of his friend, the wise old eunuch,
In his white tarboosh and tunic,
Snowy-thatched now, like a swan.
"Father mine," exclaimed Dadon,
"Hail! How fare you? At your leisure
Come and speak; what is your pleasure?"
"Tsar!" replied the aged mage,
"Now we square desert and wage.
For the aid I once accorded,
You recall, I was awarded
My first wish - to be fulfilled,
Like your own, as soon as willed.
Let this maid be what I won,
This young queen of Shamakhan."
"What?" Dadon fell back, amazed.
"What possessed you? Are you crazed?
Does some wicked demon ride you?
Have your wits dried up inside you?
What's your game, in heaven's name?
Pledge I did; but all the same
There are limits, well you knew;
And - what use is she to you?
Kindly lodge it in your head
Who I am! Why, ask instead
For my mint, a magnate's sable,
Stallion from the royal stable,
Half my tsardom if you please!"
"No, I wish for none of these!
Just you give me what I won,
This young queen of Shamakhan,"
Piped the sage in former fashion.
"No!" the Tsar spat, in a passion;
"You yourself have brought this on!
You'll have nothing! There! Be gone
While you're in one piece! I say!
Drag the scarecrow from my way!"
Whitebeard wanted to pursue it,
But with some, you're apt to rue it;
With an angry scepter blow
Tsar Dadon has laid him low,
Not to breathe again. - The city
Gave a shudder, but our pretty:
"Ha-ha-ha" and "hi-hi-hi,"
Not a pious thought, you see.
Tsar Dadon, though greatly flustered, at her,
Smiled as soft as custard,
And proceeded cityward.
Then a tiny sound was heard,
And in sight of all the people,
Look! The cock whirred off the steeple,
Swooped upon the coach of state,
Perched upon the monarch's pate,
Fluffed his ruff and pecked and clink!
Soared aloft. . .Without a blink
Tsar Dadon slid off his seat,
Gave a wheeze and stretched his feet.
Gone the empress sight unseen,
Just as though she'd never been.
Tale of sense, if not of truth!
Food for thought to honest youth"
~ Alexander Pushkin, 1799-1837 ~
Translated by Walter Arndt
In Katwijk. See more below...
Newly appointed Chief of U.S. Border Patrol Mark Morgan delivers remarks after assuming command of the U.S. Border Patrol during a swearing-in ceremony at the Ronald Reagan Building in Washington, D.C., October 11, 2016. CBP Photo by Glenn Fawcett
The Surgeon General never talks about the dangerous effects of pixie dust. We did a quick shoot last night with glitter and it didn't completely come together. The light was too far away from the glitter to produce outstanding bokeh. I do love Aurelia's reaction to the glitter in this photo. This was our third attempt and apparently having glitter blasted against one's face is not as enjoyable as it would seem.
Strobist info: 430exII into 3x4 ft. softbox triggered by pocket wizard.
In 1936-37, with funds from the Works Progress Administration and the Public Works Administration, Yerba Buena Shoals (aka. Treasure Island) was created using fill dredged from the bay for the Golden Gate International Exposition and later to be used as the Treasure Island Airport for Pan American's Pacific Rim service of flying boats. In 1941 Treasure Island was appropriated by the US Navy to be used as a naval base, thus ending the development of the airport.
Columbus Zoo - the Heart of Africa exhibit has a fantastic giraffe area. They are a huge hit with the visitors.
monday is thanksgiving in canada, i give thanks to family, friends, new, lost, to be found again, to lovers, (george bassingthwaighte and john waterhouse, -imagine to be blessed to being loved twice) to have never seen war, to have to never worry about potable water, to sisters, ann, and helene- she fought my wars, taught me to cook macaroni and cheese, showed me how to shop
for shoes, but failed to teach me that she isn't a hero. My big sister, is my hero, Love, Marc- your baby brother