View allAll Photos Tagged Outside
We're back!
Well actually, I have been back for 2 weeks now and Tom, who took his time driving home from Canada (with mountain biking and RC flying - and some photo stops), made it home one week ago today. Had an amazing time in Montana and the Canadian Rockies.... met some unbelievably wonderful people along the way.... learned some new tricks, shared a lot of laughs, and enjoyed the great outdoors!
It had been 15 years since I visited this amazing place and this trip was long overdue.
So, I'm ready to get back to sharing our adventure with my flickr friends and contacts, and in doing so, re-visit the incredible locations we visited. Hope that you're ready ..... and thanks for hanging in there, as it's always hard to catch up.
My first post is one of the most photographed sites in the Canadian Rockies - Peyto Lake, as seen from Bow Summit from the Icefields Parkway, within Banff National Park.
This amazing lake was named for Bill Peyto, who was an early trail guide and trapper in the Banff area and sits within the Waputik Range valley between Calderon Peak, Peyto Peak, and Mount Jimmy Simpson. The color of this glacier fed lake must be seen in person to be fully appreciated - the most spectacular turquoise color imaginable - the result of glacier rock flour that, when suspended in the water, yields this beautiful color. It sits at an elevation of ~6100 ft. The combination of the lake itself, framed by the majestic mountains and rich forests, literally take your breath away. On this day, we visited early in the morning in an attempt to catch the early light and reflections, which proved to be challenging on several of the days.
In the mornings, the air was crisp and chilly, and the skies were void of most clouds. As the day progressed, the sun warmed us up nicely - some days, even a bit more than I had hoped. You never know what to expect.......
There was a sense of stillness and the area was encased in the perfection of nature's landscape which it entailed. Oh yeah, that's what it's all about - pure and natural - BEAUTY!
I hope that you can get a sense of even a fraction of the beauty.......
Thanks for visiting and you can look forward to many more images to come from this trip to Montana, Alberta, and British Columbia. I'll be doing my best to catch up with as much as I can in the upcoming few weeks.
Happy Tuesday everyone!
The Prussian Class T 3 steam locomotives procured for the Prussian state railways were 0-6-0 tank locomotives. Together with the Prussian T 2 they were the first locomotives that were built to railway norms. The first units were delivered by Henschel in 1882.
The T 3's had a wet steam engine with two cylinders that drove the centre coupled axle. The slide valves were worked by an outside Allan valve gear. The water supply was stored in a well tank between the frame under the boiler; the coal bunkers were on the left and right hand side of the firebox. In front of each one was a filler pipe for the water tank.
The springs on both front axles were linked with equalising beams located above the running plate.
The early T 3's did not have a steam dome, but were equipped with a regulator housing on top, from which the admission pipes led directly to the cylinders outside the boiler. The axle load of this locomotive was about 10 t (see first photo).
Later batches (from 1887) had a steam dome, and the admission pipes were located in the smokebox. Due to the addition of the steam dome, the location of the sand box and sanders were changed. In addition the quantities of water and coal that could be carried were increased. The back wall of the cab was now straight and the lower section no longer sloped. The length over buffers increased from 8,300 mm to 8,591 mm, the axle load rose to 11 t (see second photo).
From 1903 the supplies were increased again and the T 3 could now carry 5 m³ of water and 1.9 t of coal. The axle load of this "strengthened standard class" or "Standard class (6t)" (Normalbauart (6t)) was 12 t.
Here are two of the most expensive Ferraris ever. The yellow 275 GTB/C Speciale #06885 is likely the most expensive Ferrari in existence and the 250 GTO is #4293GT. The value of these two cars combined is from $100 million to $150 million.
Long exposure photo of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco captured at dawn right before sunrise.
This photo is offered under a standard Creative Commons License - Attribution 3.0 Unported. It gives you a lot of freedom to use my work commercially as long as you credit and link back to this image on my Flickr page.
Flickr resolution: 1800 x 1200 px
Also available for download at 5000 x 3333 px on my Patreon page, an ever-growing collection of high res images for one low monthly subscription fee. You can find this specific photo at the following post:
Weltschmerz
Sentimental Pessimism
HKD
Was ist Weltschmerz?
Die Neunjährige berichtete ihrer gleichaltrigen Cousine, die neben ihr und ihrer Mutter im Zugabteil saß, wie ihr Freund vom Nachbarhof sie verlassen musste, weil seine Familie umzog. Es war eine dramatische Schilderung, die mir meine Gefühle als Kind wieder in Erinnerung rief. Sie schienen mir das Herz zu zerreißen und ebenso schien Sandra unter ähnlichen Gefühlen zu leiden.
Trennungsschmerz stürzte auch mich in die emotionale Hölle und ich begann, innere Abwehrmechanismen gegen mich selbst aufzubauen. Die Außenwelt hänselte mich wegen der gezeigten Emotionen und so begann ich, gegen meine Umwelt eine Protesthaltung zu entwickeln. Verbote, Vorschriften, Gesetze und bis ins kleinste Detail vorgeschriebene Regeln der Etikette machten es mir unmöglich, meine wahren Gefühle zu zeigen, ohne dafür bestraft zu werden.
Meine Selbstkontrolle verstärkte sich mit zunehmendem Alter, doch der authentische Ausdruck meiner Gefühle war verloren gegangen. Ich war unfähig geworden, etwas oder jemanden auf der emotionalen Ebene zu lieben. Toleranz ersetzte die herzlichen Gefühle und mit der Vernunft wuchs der Respekt gegenüber anderen, doch kindliche Emotionen wie Lebenslust, Freude und Herzlichkeit waren verloren. Und hier im Zug sah und hörte ich, wie mein damaliger Prozess ablief.
„Stell dich nicht so an!“ sagte die kaum dreißigjährige Mutter. „Wir alle müssen Verluste hinnehmen und wir müssen stark sein. Das Leben ist kein Zuckerschlecken.“
Sandra wehrte sich gegen die Verurteilung ihrer Gefühle und sagte immer wieder, dass sie doch weinen dürfen muss.
„Die Oma sagt auch, wer liebt, darf weinen.“
Ich erinnerte mich, mein Vater sagte, dass Jungen nicht weinen dürften. Da er mein Vorbild war, begann ich, meine sentimentalen Gefühle zu verachten. Diese Selbstverachtung half mir, mich in einer gesellschaftlichen Umgebung angemessen förmlich zu verhalten, doch die Maske schmerzte und ich wurde schließlich krank.
Durch den Schmerz dieser Krankheit motiviert, machte ich mich auf die Suche nach dem heiligen Gral, die Suche nach Selbsterkenntnis und Selbstheilung. Und diese führte zurück in meine Kindheit, genauer: sie erweckte meine eingeschlafene kindliche Gefühlswelt zu der besonders die herzlichen Emotionen gehören. Ja, sagte ich mir. Wer liebt, darf weinen.
„Liebe“, sagte die Mutter. „Was weißt du schon von Liebe? Sie ist ein Luxus, den man sich in dieser Welt nicht leisten kann.“
Wird Sandra diese Aussage eines Tages glauben? Wird auch sie sich eines Tages nicht mehr gestatten, ihr Herz zu öffnen, nicht nur weil eine mögliche Trennung wieder schmerzt, sondern weil die Mutter als Vorbild ihren erlernten Pragmatismus als richtiges Verhalten weitergegeben hat.
Die entscheidenden Prägungen laufen im Kindesalter. Was ist gut? Was ist böse? Das darfst du. Das darfst du nicht!
„Du hast bald schon einen neuen Freund“, sagte die Mutter und meinte, Sandra solle endlich mit ihrem Selbstmitleid aufhören. Das führe zu nichts.
Bis zu diesem Zeitpunkt hatte die Cousine kaum gesprochen, doch nun sagte sie, dass ihr Kaninchen schon lange tot sei und ihr Papa habe ihr erklärt, sie dürfe ruhig traurig sein. Aber sie wolle nicht länger traurig sein und Weltschmerz haben.
„Oh, Gott!“ sagte die Mutter. „Was weiß mein Bruder schon von Weltschmerz? Er bringt immer noch alles durcheinander.“
„Bringt er nicht“, entgegnete die Cousine. „Papa hat mir das genau erklärt. Jede unerwünschte Trennung löst Schmerzen in der Seele aus.“
„Und was hat das mit Weltschmerz zu tun?“ wollte die Mutter nun wissen.
„Das weiß ich nicht“, gestand die Cousine und ergänzte ärgerlich. „Aber du weißt es auch nicht!“
HKD
Digital art based on own photography and textures
HKD
What is Weltschmerz?
The nine-year-old told her cousins, who sat next to her and her mother in the train compartment, how her friend from the neighbouring farm had had to leave her, because his family had moved. It was a dramatic narrative, which recalled in memory my feelings as a child. They seemed to rend my heart, just as Sandra seemed to suffer from similar feelings.
The pain of separation had also plunged me into emotional hell, and I began to develop internal defense mechanisms against myself. The outside world taunted me because of the emotions I expressed, so I began to develop a protest against my environment. Prohibitions, regulations, laws, and the prescribed rules of etiquette to the minutest detail made it impossible for me to show my true feelings without being punished.
My self-control intensified with increasing age; however, the authentic expression of my emotions had been lost. I became incapable of loving anything or anyone on an emotional level. Tolerance replaced warm feelings, and with reason, respect for others increased, but childlike emotions such as love of life, joy, and warmth were lost. And here on the train, I saw and heard how my development process had occurred.
"Don't act that way," said her mother, who was scarcely thirty years old. "We must all experience loss, and we must be strong. Life is no picnic."
Sandra refused to accept the condemnation of her emotions and kept repeating that she must still be allowed to cry. "Grandma says anyone who loves is allowed to weep."
I remembered how my father had said that boys should not cry. Since he was my role model, I began to despise my sentimental emotions. This self-loathing helped me to behave appropriately in formal social surroundings; however, the mask hurt and I ultimately became sick.
Motivated by the pain of this disease, I began my quest for the Holy Grail, the quest for self-knowledge and self-healing. And this led back to my childhood, or rather it awakened my sleeping childhood world of feelings to which especially the heartfelt emotions belong. Yes, I said to myself: Anyone who loves must be allowed to cry.
"Love," said her mother. "What do you know of love? It is a luxury that you cannot afford in this world. "
Will Sandra believe this assertion one day? Will she too one day no longer allow her heart to open up, not only because of the possible pain of separation, but because as a role model, her mother had passed on her learned pragmatism as right conduct? We experience critical imprints in our childhoods: What is good? What is evil? This you may do. You must not do that!
"You will soon have a new friend," said her mother, meaning that Sandra should at long last give up her self-pity. It would lead to nothing.
Up to this point, Sandra’s cousin had not spoken, but now she said that her rabbit had been long dead and that her dad had told her that she should be peacefully sad. But now she could no longer even be sad and have Weltschmerz.
"Oh God!" said the mother. "What does my brother know of Weltschmerz? He still makes such a mess of things."
"He does not," retorted Sandra’s cousin. "My dad explained it clearly to me. Every unwanted separation triggers pain within the soul."
"And what does all of this have to do with Weltschmerz?" the mother now demanded.
"I do not know," admitted the cousin and then added angrily. "But neither do you!"
HKD
Translated by Cougar Brenneman – Many thanks!
400 speed film with a Minolta
WEBSITE l FACEBOOK FAN l TWITTER l TUMBLR
BUY ONE PRINT, GET TWO FREE
email me at allisonnewbold@gmail.com
© all rights reserved
Please take your time... and enjoy it large on black
Champasak lies on the western bank of the Mekong river - Southern Laos, while the main route to the south - route 13 is on the eastern side. Getting to and from Champasak will involve a crossing of the Mekong as the town sits on the West bank. Our tuk-tuk will join our crossing. The ferry, which carries vehicles, even buses and people is more like a group of canoes tied together to make a large raft. A wooden platform mounted across three separate hulls; the height of marine technology. We decided to wait outside the tuk-tuk in case an emergency exit was needed. The ferry was driven by an old truck engine. We had to wait till the ferry was fully loaded. Crossing takes about 15 minutes, but loading and unloading takes a lot longer since there is no regular landing-stage just the river bank. Basically Laos is not the best place in the world to be if you are impatient or in a hurry. It took us about 1.5 hour to cross the mighty Mekong river. The ferry point is a quite busy place, actually a small market. There are eateries on the river bank but we decided to eat later and cross the river first. But women selling also food on the ferry. A vendor had just delivered a soup. I enjoy the river scenes of people having food on the raft and smaller rafts, just fit enough to ferry a couple of bikes making their way across as well. It's quite a happening. Half the fun of traveling here is in the travel itself.
Photo of the ferry crossing the mighty Mekong river to Champasak - Southern Laos. Such beautiful sinister scene where you can see it's raining in the mountains. For us dark clouds are luckily moving away from the ferry. From our experience we can say even if you travel in the wildest rainy season you experience maybe much more about Laos than others in December crushing out with only other foreigners and learning and seeing maybe less...I guess its finally up to you which season you choose to visit Laos.
Onze tuktuk reed ons van Houay Sae - route13 naar de ferry alwaar wij de Mekong rivier overstaken richting Champasak. De veerpont is niet meer dan twee aan elkaar gebonden sloepen met een platform van planken. Eigenlijk een groot vlot op drijvers dat door een oude vrachtwagenmotor wordt voortbewogen. De overtocht is op zich al een belevenis. Er gaan zoveel auto’s op tot er geen één meer bij kan. Zodra we erop zijn gaat de ferry uiteraard nog niet varen, we moeten wachten tot deze vol is... wat ook nog even duurt. De overtocht opzich duurt niet lang maar het aanmeren wel aangezien er geen steiger is alleen de ruige oever van de Mekong rivier. Er wordt gemanoevreerd naar een goeie plek alwaar de autobussen "veilig" via twee planken op de kant kunnen komen. Het is behoorlijk druk op en rond de veerboot. Eigenlijk een kleine markt zowel aan de oever als op de veerboot. Op de ferry worden verschillende dingen verkocht, lemon-juice wat vers wordt gemaakt, diverse gegrilde stukken vlees op spies etc etc. Een delicatesse hier is kip-embryo, dus een gekookt kuiken in een ei. Onze tuktuk ging mee naar de overkant. Champasak ligt eigenlijk nog 2km zuiderlijker. Onze tuktuk chauffeur was zelf ook nog nooit in Champasak geweest waardoor we eigenlijk Champasak in eerste instantie voorbij reden. We hadden zelfs het idee dat Champasak een groot stadje was, maar was niet meer dan wat huizen aan één weg. Uiteindelijk toch bij plaats van bestemming gekomen en accommodatie gevonden.
Follow me on:
Press "L" for view on black!
The stacked rocks of Reynisdrangar proved to be challenging to photograph from a bit more upclose. The combination of the constant battering of waves and the upcoming high tide made it hard to get close without being cornered in by the cliffs on the left side. Still, I got close enough for my taste :).
Of course, it was also my preference to keep my clothes and shoes dry!
For a description of the legend behind these rocks, see my other photo of Reynisdrangar flic.kr/p/AZQz61.
Thanks for the favs, views and comments!
Details
Nikon D90 / Sigma 10-20 HSM DC / ISO 100 / f/8.0 / 10.0-20.0mm @ 20mm, B+W 110ND filter.
If you like my art, you can buy it here james-sage.artistwebsites.com/
I was out taking photos in the old mining town in Eldorado Canyon, just outside Nelson Nevada, when I found one of the many old Coke bottles, that Tony, the owner, has all over the place. Being a lover of all things Coca-Cola, I poured the rest of the Coke I was drinking into the classic bottle, and placed it in ,what I think is a lot of cool places, around the town. Hope you enjoy the photos, as much as I enjoyed taking them.
There are a lot of cool things to photograph, ,in El Dorado Canyon, Nevada. If you ever get the chance to go,Go! www.eldoradocanyonminetours.com 702-291-0026 They charge $10 per hour, and it is worth every cent. The Werly's are great people. Just about an hour from Las Vegas. Come explore the Mojave Desert with its rusty history, then top it off with a Mojave Desert sunset. Beautiful!
scanned from a slide ..
My images are © Copyrighted and All Rights Reserved. This image can not be reproduced and/or used in any form of publication, print or the Internet without my written permission.
Prayer Flags are inscribed with auspicious symbols, invocations, prayers, and mantras. Tibetan Buddhists for centuries have planted these flags outside their homes and places of spiritual practice for the wind to carry the beneficent vibrations across the countryside. Prayer flags are said to bring happiness, long life and prosperity to the flag planter and those in the vicinity.
Dharma prints bear traditional Buddhist symbols, protectors and enlightened beings. As the Buddhist spiritual approach is non-theistic, the elements of Tantric iconography do not stand for external beings, but represent aspects of enlightened mind i.e. compassion, perfect action, fearlessness, etc. Displayed with respect, Dharma prints impart a feeling of harmony and bring to mind the precious teachings.
Dawson City is in the lower right hand corner. The left hand side shows tailing from when there was gold dredging done here. Alaska is on the right side of the Yukon River and you have to take a Canadian ferry across it to get to the city. If you've ever watched the show Gold Rush or some of the other mining shows, this is where they go to blow off steam and relax. There is a lot of history in this town as the mining has been going of for many years in the area. It was really interesting to walk around town and read about the history of some of the buildings.
I took this picture from the Midnight Dome which is just right outside of the main part of the city. You get a great view in both directions of the river and the town. In the middle of summer, this location has a night where the sun never completely sets in the sky. This is a fun place to visit.
Fatehpur Sikri is a city and a municipal board in Agra district in the state of Uttar Pradesh, India. The city was founded in 1569 by the Mughal emperor Akbar, and served as the capital of the Mughal Empire from 1571 to 1585.
After his military victories over Chittor and Ranthambore, Akbar decided to shift his capital from Agra to a new location 37 km W.S.W on the Sikri ridge, to honor the Sufi saint Salim Chishti. Here he commenced the construction of a planned walled city which took the next fifteen years in planning and construction of a series of royal palaces, harem, courts, a mosque, private quarters and other utility buildings. He named the city, Fatehabad, with Fateh, a word of Arabic origin in Persian, meaning "victory." it was later called Fatehpur Sikri. It is at Fatehpur Sikri that the legends of Akbar and his famed courtiers, the nine jewels or Navaratnas, were born.
Fatehpur Sikri is one of the best preserved collections of Mughal architecture in India.
The Buland Darwaza is made of red and buff sandstone, decorated by white and black marble and towers above the courtyard of the mosque. The Buland Darwaza is symmetrical in plan and is topped by pillars and chhatris with Buland Darwaiosks on the roof, stylized battlement and small turrets and inlay work of white and black marble. On the outside a long flight of steps sweeps down the hill giving the gateway additional height. A Persian inscription on eastern archway of the Buland Darwaza records Akbar's conquest over Uttar Pradesh and the victory in Gujarat in 1601.
It is 40 metres high and 50 metres from the ground. The total height of the Structure is about 54 metres from the ground level. It is a 15-storied high gateway that guards the southern entrance of the city of Fatehpur Sikri.
An inscription on the central face of the Buland Darwaza throws light on Akbar's religious broad mindedness. It took 12 years to build.
On the main gateway an Islamic inscription written in Persian reads "Isa (Jesus), son of Mary said: 'The world is a Bridge, pass over it, but build no houses upon it. He who hopes for a day, may hope for eternity; but the World endures but an hour. Spend it in prayer for the rest is unseen.'"
We started the day in Palma at La Seu and this is were it also ended. In between we made one of those tourist "hop on hop off" bus tours which are really nice to get a slight overview of a big city and to get some information about the history as well. You also can some cool places from where to take pictures at. We only got off the bus at the Bellver Castle from where you have a good vista above the hole city and parts of the island when the air is clean.
After the bus tour we wandered around Palma a little bit and then decided to take a rest at our hotel since it was way to hot. So we did rest and returned back to Palma for dinner. After dinner I did a couple shots from the outside of La Seu, the big cathedral of Palma. This is one of them.
Have a great day, folks!
This is taken at English Landing Park in Parkville, MO.
Another Topaz experiment. This time I'm using Topaz impressions which seems to be a really cool program. But outside of perhaps marketing or an ad campaign, I have a hard time thinking someone would desire this as fine art knowing that it's not REALLY a painting. All the same I still think it's a pretty neat image. Hope you enjoy!
You can follow me on Facebook here: www.facebook.com/taslerphoto
Twitter: twitter.com/TaslerPhoto
Sunrise came early at the Moulton Barn but as the light first settled on the Tetons, filling the clouds with hues of red and yellow, I was awe stricken. When, at last the golden light of morning splashed across the barn, my hands were shaking with excitement.
I set my alarm for 4:15 that morning and managed to crawl from the tent at 4:30. Truthfully I didn't see any sense in worrying about what to wear but did manage to get my teeth brushed before following the instructions in Jeff's book about how to get to the barn. It was pitch black outside and I was thankful for those instructions and knew that I probably wouldn't have made it there without them. My recommendation is to go find the barn the evening before because it will make your sunrise much easier.
No one was at the barn when I arrived and once again I followed some suggestions from the book and found this spot next to the small stream and used my headlamp to set up. Not five minutes after I had gotten to the barn did a photo tour out of Colorado show up. The tour host remarked that it was the first time anyone had beaten him to the barn - some of his participants were quite vocal about their disappointment but the details are not necessary. I tried all levels with the tripod, using a remote and a polarizer. I believe that there are `100 different angles to shoot this from, maybe more, but in that morning light they all work, it just depends on the photographer's own preference. I like water in my shots, whenever possible. The light was not yet on the barn when this shot was taken, I bracketed five stops and used four images to make this one. Later I will post a shot from when the sun first began to caress the worn boards of the Moulton Barn.
I am a bit late getting going this morning - still can't seem to get caught up on the sleep. Have a great Sunday everyone!
Also, take a look at my next post, "Left my Heart in the Tetons," I just heard from the father of one of the girls who made the heart on the beach. They were kind enough to offer me that spectacular campsite and I attribute much of the joy of my trip to their kindness.
Like me on Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Deby-Dixon-Photography/16390137032...
Photography Blog: debydixonphotography.wordpress.com/
© all rights reserved
Please take your time... and enjoy it large on black
Champasak lies on the west bank of the Mekong River, within an agricultural region of rolling plains and alluvial lowlands whose mountainous core is an eastern outlier of the Dângrêk Mountains. The town was once the seat of the Kingdom of Champasak, an independent Lao state which was abolished by the French in 1945. Today the town is very small and quiet, there are some guesthouses along the riverbank. The number of attractions ranging from the Khmer sites of Wat Phu, Um Muang and the island of Don Daeng. The ancient temple was recently made a UNESCO heritage site and is considered one of the finest Angkor-inspired edifices outside of Cambodia. For us a day to relax always ends with lots of activity. After lunch we decide in the heat of the day to rent a bike and wander around Champasak. People of Champasak settle along the bank of Mekong river as one of its transportation arteries and fertile pieces of land that encourage the rice cultivation – It's one of the largest producers of rice of this country. We enjoy the daily life out here women in the paddy fields and Fishermen in the Mekong river. There are many different minorities in Champasak. They have their own language, cultures and life styles. What can be seen here are rustic thatch huts, local agricultural practices, the century-long traditions and the still-primal way of life. A chance to meet the Lao people and learn a little bit about their habits and culture.
A peaceful view on the Mekong river taken in Champasak, Laos. The boys are paddling on their dugout canoe along the mighty Mekong river.
Met de veerboot aan de overkant van de Mekong bereik je Champasak. Gelegen even ten zuiden van Pakxe, eveneens de naam van de provincie waar we nu verblijven. Champasak is nu niet meer een plaats van betekenis, maar vroeger was het een erg belangrijke stad in het rijk van de Khmer, nog voordat deze plaats werd ingenomen door Angkor in Cambodja. De overblijfselen hiervan, het Wat Phu tempelcomplex, zijn nog te bezichtigen en dat zijn we dan ook van plan. Langs de Mekong zijn er enkele openluchtrestaurantjes waar je kunt genieten van het lekkere eten, het uitzicht over de rivier en het eiland Don Daeng. Dit eiland is ongeveer half zo groot als Schiermonnikoog en heeft behalve een aantal dorpjes niet zoveel te bieden. Ideaal om gedwongen niets te doen. We zijn hier gekomen om het lekker rustig aan te doen, dus huren we na het eten meteen fietsen om in het heetst van de dag de omgeving te bekijken. Soms begrijp ik niet goed wat ons bezielt, maar rustig aan bij ons, loopt altijd weer uit op één of andere activiteit. Je wilt natuurlijk niets missen. Het leven gaat hier rustig z'n gangetje, zo rustig als de stroming van de modderige Mekong rivier. Ik geniet van de alledaagse dingen die er te zien vallen in het dorp. Het gewone leven van de Lao langs de rivier.
Amaryllis is also known as the naked lady! This beauty was taken in my brother's garden outside Orange in New South Wales.
For further information about this exotic lovely, please visit en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amaryllis
Quick shot at the corner of Renmin Road (人民路), Yunnan South Road (云南南路) and Shouning Road (寿宁路).
A nice contrast of "old and new". The older buildings in the foreground are sort of ancient "urban sprawl" - these buildings were constructed just outside the walled boundary of the ancient Chinese city.
Renmin Road (人民路) and Zhonghua Road (中华路) form a clearly visible ring structure on every Shanghai map. These roads actually follow the ancient city wall of the Shanghai walled city. Unfortunately only about 50m of this city wall are preserved.
© All Rights Reserved - you may not use this image in any form without my prior permission.
Thank you Kayla Tigersgirl
With the wind howling outside and the rain pouring down at the moment, it seemed right to reflect on the onset of Autumn. Unfortunately, here in the UK, our Autumns are generally wet, miserable and windy. As soon as the leaves turn a lovely red/brown on the trees, the storms arrive and bingo! - all the leaves are on the ground.
The Antonov An-22 "Antei" (NATO reporting name "Cock") is a heavy military transport aircraft designed by the Antonov Design Bureau in the Soviet Union.
Powered by four turboprop engines each driving a pair of contra-rotating propellers, the design was the first Soviet wide-body aircraft and remains the world's largest turboprop-powered aircraft to date. An-22 first appeared for public outside the Soviet Union at the 1965 Paris Air Show. Since then, the model saw extensive use in major military and humanitarian airlifts of the Soviet Union.
In the late 1950s the Soviet Union required a large military transport aircraft to supplement the Antonov An-8 and An-12s then entering service. Originally known as the An-20, the model was a conventional multi-engined high-wing design. In the early 1960s the Antonov bureau produced a wooden mock up at its Kiev workshops of what was designated the Model 100. The prototype now designated the An-22 was rolled out 18 August 1964 and first flew on 27 February 1965. The prototype was given the name Antheus and, after four-months of test flying, was displayed at the 1965 Paris Air Show. Serial aircraft were built at the Tashkent State Aircraft Factory and the first military delivery was made to the Air Transport Wing at Ivanovo Airbase in 1969.
The aircraft was designed as a strategic airlifter, designed specifically to expand the Soviet Airborne Troops' capability to land with their then-new BMD-1 armoured vehicles. The An-22 cargo hold can accommodate four BMD-1 compared to only one in the An-12.
It also has the capability to takeoff from austere, unpaved and short airstrips, allowing airborne troops to perform air-landing operations. This is achieved by four pairs of contra-rotating propellers, similar to those on the Tupolev Tu-114. The engines generate significant thrust, and produce a slipstream over the wings and large double-slotted flaps. The landing gear is ruggedized for rough airstrips, and, in early versions, tire pressures could be adjusted in flight for optimum landing performance, although that feature was removed in later models.
The An-22 follows traditional cargo transport design with a high-mounted wing allowing a large cargo space of 33m in length and a usable volume of 639m³. The forward fuselage is fully pressurized and provides space for 5 to 8 crew and up to 28 passengers, but the cargo space is pressurized to only 3.55 PSI / 0.245 bar allowing for a lighter airframe. A door equipped with pressure bulkhead is located at frame 14, separating the cargo attendant's compartment from the main cargo compartment. This allows the rear cargo doors to be opened during flight for paratroops and equipment drop. Like the An-12, the aircraft has a circular fuselage section. The An-22 has set a number of payload and payload-to-height world records[citation needed].
The An-22 has the general appearance of an enlarged version of the earlier Antonov An-12 except that it is fitted with a twin tail. This gives the An-22 better engine-out performance, and reduces height restrictions for hangars. Also of note are large anti-flutter masses on the top of each tail.
Only one production variant was built, the standard An-22. Prototypes, such as the one first featured at the 1965 Paris Air Show had fully glazed noses that lacked the nose mounted radar of production models. Those aircraft had the radar mounted below the right wheel well fairing, forward of the wheels. Antonov designated a variant with a modified electrical system and an additional augmented flight control system the An-22A but the designation was not used by the military.
A proposed civil airliner version capable of seating 724 passengers on upper and lower decks was planned but wasn't constructed. (For comparison, a typical Boeing 747 can carry 400–500 passengers.)
:-) stars :-)
Type "L" to see it proper.
Monday night had a clear forecast for Central Oregon/Washington so I packed up the gear and skadaddled from town. Valorie stayed home due to below freezing temperature forecasts (she's a Southern Belle favoring to warmer climates). As I got on the highway, the sun began a performance of an incredible sunset. I was excited for stars and set on blasting down the highway- but damnit, now there was this sunset distraction!? It turned into a hell of a show, and I was lucky to get off a shot that I really like. Here:
www.flickr.com/photos/bencanales/5614685567/in/photostream/
So, after some crazy driving, u-turning, and jaw dropping sunset- I was back on the road heading East for some stars!
I kept checking the weather report on my phone because I ended up driving through some nasty weather! Rain, wind, THICK cloud cover, but sure enough- as I rounded the corner for The Dalles, the cover gave way and stars started to fill my windshield.
I made a few stops through the night, but ended up spending the majority of my time here.
When I first got here- it wasn't so creepy. I wondered why I had memories of this place freaking me out so much. But then, I walked into the house, and quickly had that creeped out feeling as things in the upstairs started making all kinds of noise.
It's a dumb thing to walk into a dilapidated, abandoned, collapsing structure in the dark. I question my sanity as I take steps around holes in the floor, look up to see fallen rafters, and notice 90% of the ceiling material laying on the ground. But, it is soo cool! When I step into these buildings, it's like I instantly travel to an adventure far from the 100 miles I actually drove to get there.
So, I place a light in the back. Place a light in the middle. Place a light in the front room. And then I face the stairs going up to put a light up there.
Instantly the hair on my neck stands up. I do not want to go up those stairs. First because I'll probably fall through them and end up trapped in a tangled mess of splinters and slow tetnus death, but more so because I immediately feel 10 yrs old afraid of the boogeyman again. I remind myself I am an adult man.
I remind myself again, I am an adult man.
...still standing at the base of the stairs, not haven taken anymore steps closer, I repeat my mantra of bravery again, and begin to approach the steps.
The steps going upstairs are layed out in a two tier, turn the corner style. You go up 8 steps to a landing, turn 90 degrees to the left and go another 8 steps to the upstairs. So, at the base, all you see is the landing and then craning my head, I can see the stars through the roof rafters above, but damnit, I can't see a thing up into the actual living space.
Repeating to myself how brave I am and this is no big deal and I'll be fine- holding the light in my right hand, headlamp on my forehead shining light wherever I look, I take the first step!
It holds. Nothing happens.
I release my held breath.
There is no Boogeyman. I am an adult. Nothing is going to jump out of the shadows to get me.
I take the second step, quickly rise to the third step, and then all evil in Hell breaks loose above me.
A barrage of sounds in the air directly over my head and scraping of sharp things rattle across the unseen floor above turns on like the trigger of Halloween trick or treat suprises at someone's front door.
Me, the adult man, the brave explorer, the night photographer, the adventurous outdoorsman- I immediately cower down, hands fly up over my head as I duck, and all in the same motion, my legs are already taking me down the three steps, running to safety outside the house- but frustratingly, my feet don't have the reaction time my legs do, so I end up more so falling back down the first three steps, stumbling and tripping to regain my balance. The light from my headlamp goes berserk, throwing a bright beam wildly as my head whips to look up, away, and then behind for a route of retreat, but also around the house in panic that all ghosts of the house are in attack mode!
Tripping, stumbling through the piled wall boards, ceiling rafters, holes in the floor, old nails sticking up and out of boards everywhere- I yell as I fall out of the house, hands still up to protect my head from whatever beastly demons were hiding in the upstairs!
Safety! I make it out of the house door, spinning around, hands immediately go up, legs wide and crouched ready to battle the ghost of the old farmer- my headlamp spastically illuminating all dark shadows and corners.
As I stand there for 10 seconds, catching my breath, no apparitions of Hell step forward from the doorway, and the noise upstairs trickles away.
After throwing sticks into the upstairs window from the field outside, yelling defiantly for the spookies to get the hell out- 4 pigeons obey me and bang into themselves and walls as they try to find the windows to escape the crazy adult man down below them throwing sticks into their roost. As for the scraping, ticking noise- I never found out. It continued to act up, so I continued to stay downstairs. I think the Washington State record for the colony of the largest rats are living in there. Big rats. Like, big, evil murderous rats. Maybe even ROU's.
Now to think of it... definitely ROU's!
What is an ROU's? Funny you ask...
As I post this there are 9.3 billion ( or to be exact 9 316 128 116 ) photos on flickr and approximately 6000 more are posted every minute. There are it seems more that 9 million sunset photos here ( or maybe many, many more and that figure only reflects those tagged sunset). Why then post a photo of one, why even take the photo, why stop to look?
And my own reply is that I enjoy watching the sun sink slowly in the sky and see the colours change, I enjoy trying to capture that in a photo and I enjoy the way that each time is never repeated but it is different. This particular sunset was taken whilst swimming outside the reef.
I found a reference to the article below on a flickr group. It is lengthy but might interest someone.
"When is a cliché not a cliché? Reconsidering Mass-Produced Sunsets"
eitherand.org/reconsidering-amateur-photography/when-clic...
Taken in my neighborhood in Central Florida, USA
Canon Rebel XSi and Canon EF 100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS USM
I found this old house next to a subdivision and golf course just off of Camp Phillips Road in the Marathon County countryside outside of Wausau, Wisconsin. View On Black
Had a great trip to Gigrin even if the light and weather wasn't great. The red kite is one of my favorite birds in the UK, so elegant when flying.
Right in the centre of Edinburgh, on top of the museum, is a roof garden with amazing views of the city. On the left is Edinburgh Castle.
Enjoy this early morning view of the Lower Manhattan skyline, taken shortly before sunrise at Exchange Place in Jersey City, New Jersey.
Some of the best views of Lower Manhattan and Midtown Manhattan can be enjoyed from New Jersey. It is certainly worth the commute. I used to live only five blocks away from this spot. While watching the boats sail up and down along the Hudson River in the late evenings, with few people around, I always found Exchange Place to be a calm haven of reflective introspection. It is one of my favorite spots in the NYC metropolitan area.
I also spent the “Y2K” switchover from 1999 to 2000 here with about 100 people, including my little sister, from which you could see fireworks from Times Square and the Statue of Liberty simultaneously.
The statue is the Katyn Memorial, in observation of the horrendous massacre of Polish citizens that took place in Russia during World War II. On the front side of the memorial, there is also a rectangular plaque observing the devastating loss of life that took place on September 11, 2001.
One humorous note: Before cell phones took over the populace, it was considered “long distance” to call NYC from Jersey City. I remember frequently questioning AT&T why I paid long distance fees to a place I could see outside my window.
-------------------------------
For everyone in the nation -- and the world -- who felt the loss of life, innocence, and the anguish that was inflicted on Newtown, Connecticut on December 14, 2012 -- I share your grief in my mind and in my heart.
WATCH ***TIA: YEAR IN PHOTOS 2012***
TIA INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY / TIA Facebook / TIA Twitter / TIA Blogger
"Autumn Rush" - Route 134, Maine, USA
© Doug van Kampen, 2013 All Rights Reserved
So, as many of you have already guessed, I’ve been spending a bit of time outside as of late and have been witness to some of the most spectacular displays of color New England has to offer. In doing so, it is normally twice a week, when I have the opportunity to bring my girls to school, after which time I take about a half hour in and around my home here in Brunswick to make images of the morning light and the way it lays on the surrounding landscape and landmarks alike. This morning, I couldn’t get over the number of cars on the road, making their way to the way most make their living, a 9 to 5 job.
How many minutes would it take each morning to stop, if even for a couple minutes, to take in the surrounding scenery in the area you live? Five minutes, maybe ten? My point is, is that we as a whole don’t take the time to “stop and smell the roses” much less learn to appreciate new things in the environment in which we live. We have all become such ‘slaves to the hormone, body and soul’ (words from “Animate” by RUSH) We rarely, if at all, teach our children to appreciate the world around them and instead become caught up in the multitude of distractions in our everyday lives. I will admit, I’ve fallen victim to this one as well; there’s just so much going on the world today and my A.D.D. brain loves things that are shiny! Facebook, Twitter, etc. Appreciating the outdoors begins with a choice, a choice to head outdoors and see whats out there…I assure you, there is *so* much to see and do, you could spend your whole life exploring. The only thing that’s stopping you is well, you. Five or ten minutes a day, that’s all you really need! -DvK
*Please no group invites or images in the comments. All posts of this nature will be deleted and users will be prevented from commenting and blocked. Thank you.*
Emily Dickinson poem. "If the relics of childhood are still present though transcended in the poem, that only adds to the poem's profound insight, expressing an abiding reality of the human consciousness. . . .[T]he picture presented in the poem, of the poet alone with her dog outside the town's limits, pursued by the rising tide of consciousness or (to change the metaphor to that of another of her poems) by 'That awful stranger Consciousness', the presence whom she is trying to exorcise or master through the return to the town." Kenneth Stocks comment on it.
Interesting what you get when you Google "mystic dog walk"!
And if you want to know more and read the poem:
By Robin Ekiss www.poetryfoundation.org/learning/guide/237890
Many poets have written about the sea: Whitman, Baudelaire, Rimbaud . . . a list that goes all the way back to Homer. For some people and poets, the ocean represents adventure and escape. For others, its vastness suggests the infinite depths of the self or the unconscious, even danger, which also lurks beneath the waves. For Emily Dickinson (who’d never actually seen the ocean), its unfathomable beauty represented many of these things and more. In her poem, “I started Early — Took my Dog,” we can fully experience the ocean’s power over the poet’s imagination.
Though unpublished—and largely unknown—in her lifetime, Dickinson is now considered one of the great American poets of the 19th century. She spent most of her adult life at home in Amherst, Massachusetts, but her reclusive tendencies didn’t stop her from roaming far and wide in her mind.
Like most of Dickinson’s work, this poem relies heavily on the hymn and ballad forms. As a churchgoer, Dickinson was very familiar with hymns, whose rigid rhyme and syllable structure create a melody that’s recognizable in many of her poems, which can be sung to familiar hymn tunes, such as “Amazing Grace.” Because of its religious association, the hymn form brings a certain spiritual gravity to Dickinson’s work, lending her poems about everyday experience a kind of religious reverence.
Dickinson also relied on the ballad in structuring her poems. Composed of four-line stanzas with strong rhythms, repetitions, and rhymes (usually on the second and fourth lines), ballads were traditionally a form of storytelling set to music. When Dickinson’s lines are read out loud, it’s easy to see (and hear) how they create their own song that tells a story.
That story begins with the simple-enough task of taking a dog for a walk on the beach:
I started Early – Took my Dog –
And visited the Sea –
But this early-morning stroll is anything but ordinary. Though Dickinson, indeed, was known to walk her dog, Carlo, on the grounds of her house, they never ventured as far as the ocean. Having never seen it, Dickinson must imagine the sea, and she transforms it through metaphor into something much more familiar to her: a house, complete with a “Basement” and an attic (“the Upper Floor”).
As if paying a social call, she’s greeted not at the door, but at the shore—by mermaids and frigates (square-rigged ships of the 18th and early 19th centuries), which hold out their “Hempen Hands” (their ropes) to her as though she were a shipwrecked mouse scurrying between the ship’s deck and the dock, with the possibility of escape:
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me –
And Frigates – in the Upper Floor
Extended Hempen Hands –
Presuming Me to be a Mouse –
Aground – opon the Sands –
In Dickinson’s imagination, the sea becomes a magical place, and the poem, filled with friendly, unthreatening creatures, is like a nursery rhyme. That comforting sense of simplicity is heightened by her unique syntax and punctuation, filled with dashes and unusual capitalization. Each dash demands that we pause for a moment between the capitalized words, emphasizing the rhythmic and lyrical qualities of the poem. Much as the full “stops” of a telegram charge every subsequent line, Dickinson’s dashes slow us down and make every inventive detail and carefully chosen image seem all the more deliberate. The effect lulls us, as waves do, and also forces us to feel the drama of the poem’s language.
But all is not as it seems. In the third stanza, we see a literal turning of the tide. The waves begin to take on a menacing tone:
But no Man moved Me – till the Tide
Went past my simple Shoe –
And past my Apron – and my Belt
And past my Boddice – too –
The advancing water threatens to drown the speaker as it rises dramatically, phrase by phrase, past her chest. Taking on the characteristics of a man, the ocean becomes volatile and voracious, threatening to devour her:
And made as He would eat me up –
As wholly as a Dew
Opon a Dandelion’s Sleeve –
“And then—I started—too,” the speaker says, repeating a crucial verb from the poem’s first stanza. In the poem’s first line, “started” implies “starting a journey.” Repeated here, it suggests she is “startled” by fright, retreating as the tide continues to pursue her:
And He – He followed – close behind –
I felt His Silver Heel
Opon my Ancle – Then My Shoes
Would overflow with Pearl –
The speaker who so calmly “visited” the sea with her canine companion at the start of the poem now flees from it, with the sea (still a “He”) running “close behind,” lapping at her feet. As though he is trying to consume her, his “Silver Heel” touches her ankle. She pauses to imagine what might happen if they truly become one: “Then my Shoes / Would overflow with Pearl” (the ocean’s bubbly, white-washed surf). Though she’s obviously threatened by the possibility of consummation here, there’s beauty in it, too: the way pearls are beautiful, once they’ve been released from their shells.
But her dream of being subsumed by the sea is interrupted by the inescapable reality of the town, a place so “solid” that her imagined Poseidon must concede (and recede) back to his ocean floor:
Until We met the Solid Town –
No One He seemed to know –
And bowing – with a Mighty look –
At me – The Sea withdrew –
The use of the pronoun “we” in this final stanza reiterates that the speaker and the sea are indeed united for a moment, and then separated at last. Our final sight of the sea is as a “bowing” gentleman whose “Mighty look / At me” (a lowercase “me” that contrasts with the capitalized “Me” in the third stanza) leaves her feeling a tangible sense of loss.
Invited, awed, and ultimately cowed by her imagined experience, Dickinson’s speaker undergoes a true sea change in her perception. For someone who could only imagine it, the ocean, which on the surface may seem serene, comes to represent something decidedly more sinister. Dickinson’s vision portrays the sea as a place that’s both welcoming and wary, as the imagination itself can be for many writers and readers.
The Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), our national bird, is the only eagle unique to North America. The Bald Eagle's scientific name signifies a sea eagle with a white head. At one time, the word "bald" meant "white," not hairless. Bald eagles are found throughout most of North America, from Alaska and Canada to northern Mexico.
With over 1,400 nesting pairs, Florida has one of the largest population of Bald Eagles in the United States, excluding Alaska. The nesting season extends from October 1st through May 15th, with individual pairs often returning to the same nesting territory year after year.
I found this one perched on a Dock In Lake Kissimmee at Joe Overstreet landing.
Osceola County, Florida.
Coastline view
La Perla (The Pearl)
Old San Juan, Puerto Rico
See a closer view HERE
(Description from Wikipedia)
La Perla is a slum neighborhood outside of the northern historic city wall of Old San Juan, Puerto Rico, stretching about 600 meters along the rocky Atlantic coast immediately east of the Santa Maria Magdalena de Pazzis Cemetery and down the slope from (north of) Calle Norzagaray.
La Perla was established in the late 19th century. Initially, the area was the site of a slaughterhouse because the law required them - as well as cemeteries - to be established away from the main community center; in this case, outside the city walls. Some time later, farmers and workers started living around the slaughterhouse and established their houses there.
In spite of its amazing oceanfront location (in most cities such properties would be home to the wealthiest individuals), in recent years La Perla has become more known because of the high rate of illegal drug trafficking and crime.
See more shots at my Puerto Rico set.