In a nation criminalising dissent, these two protesters committed their "crime" in broad daylight: they held a sign. Their simple placards directly challenge a government that prosecutes peaceful protesters under terror laws while remaining complicit in an assault that has systematically killed over 63,000 Palestinians. They acted in defiance of a state that ignores the deliberate weaponisation of starvation which created a confirmed famine in Gaza.

Their stance isn't radical; it reflects a powerful academic and human rights consensus. The International Association of Genocide Scholars, Amnesty International, and even Israeli human rights groups have all concluded that Israel is committing genocide. The deep, weary but determined resolve on their faces is a silent testament to a profound moral clarity, a refusal to be silenced in the face of the gravest of all war crimes - genocide.

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Protest and the Price of Dissent: Palestine Action and the Criminalisation of Conscience

Parliament Square on Saturday, 6 September 2025 was a scene of quiet, almost solemn defiance. The air, usually thick with the noise of London traffic and crowds of tourists, was instead filled with a palpable tension, a shared gravity that emanated from the quiet determination of hundreds of protesters, many of them over 60 years old, some sitting on steps or stools and others lying on the grass.

They held not professionally printed banners, but handwritten cardboard signs, their messages stark against the historic grandeur of their surroundings. This was not a march of chants and slogans, but a silent vigil of civil disobedience, a deliberate and calculated act of defiance against the state.

On that day, my task was to photograph the protest against the proscription of the direct-action group Palestine Action. While not always agreeing entirely with the group’s methods, I could not help but be struck by the profound dedication etched on the faces of the individual protesters.

As they sat in silence, contemplating both the horrific gravity of the situation in Gaza and the enormity of the personal risk they were taking — courting arrest under terror laws for holding a simple placard — their expressions took on a quality not dissimilar to what war photographers once called the “thousand-yard stare.” It was a look of weary but deep and determined resolve, a silent testament to their readiness to face life-changing prosecution in the name of a principle.

This scene poses a profound and unsettling question for modern Britain. How did the United Kingdom, a nation that prides itself on its democratic traditions and the right to protest, arrive at a point where hundreds of its citizens — clergy, doctors, veterans, and the elderly — could be arrested under counter-terrorism legislation for an act of silent, peaceful protest?

The events of that September afternoon were the culmination of a complex and contentious series of developments, but their significance extends far beyond a single organisation or demonstration. The proscription of Palestine Action has become a critical juncture in the nation’s relationship with dissent, a test of the elasticity of free expression, and a stark examination of its obligations under international law in the face of Israel deliberately engineering a catastrophic humanitarian crisis in Gaza.

To understand what is at stake, one must unravel the threads that led to that moment: the identity of the movement, the state’s legal machinery of proscription, the confrontation in Parliament Square, and the political context that compelled so many to risk their liberty.

Direct Action and the State’s Response

Palestine Action, established in 2020, has never hidden its approach. Unlike traditional lobbying groups, it rejected appeals to political elites in favour of disrupting the physical infrastructure of complicity: factories producing parts for Israeli weapons systems, offices of arms manufacturers, and — eventually — military installations themselves.

Its tactics, while non-violent, were disruptive and confrontational. Red paint sprayed across buildings to symbolise blood, occupations that halted production, chains and locks on factory gates. For supporters, these were acts of conscience against a system enabling atrocities in Gaza. For the state, they were criminal disruptions of commerce.

That clash escalated steadily. In Oldham, a persistent campaign against Elbit Systems, a key manufacturer in the Israeli arms supply chain, culminated in the company abandoning its Ferranti site. Later actions targeted suppliers for F-35 fighter jets and other arms manufacturers.

These were no random acts of mindless vandalism but part of a deliberate strategy: to impose costs high enough that complicity in Israel’s war effort would become unsustainable.

The decisive rupture came in June 2025, when activists infiltrated RAF Brize Norton, Britain’s largest airbase, and sprayed red paint into the engines of refuelling aircraft linked to operations over Gaza.

For the activists, it was a desperate attempt to interrupt a supply chain of surveillance and logistical support to a state commiting genocide. For the government, it crossed a line: military assets had been attacked. Within days, the Home Secretary announced Palestine Action would be proscribed as a terrorist organisation.

Proscription and the Expansion of “Terrorism”

Here lies the heart of the controversy. The Terrorism Act 2000 defines terrorism with unusual breadth, encompassing not only threats to life but also “serious damage to property” carried out for political or ideological aims. In this capacious definition, breaking a factory window or disabling a machine can be legally assimilated to mass murder.

By invoking this law, the government placed Palestine Action on the same legal footing as al-Qaeda or ISIS. Supporting it — even symbolically — became a serious offence.

Since July 2025, merely expressing support for the organization can carry a maximum prison sentence of 14 years.

This is based on Section 12 of the Terrorism Act 2000. The specific offense is "recklessly expressing support for a proscribed organisation". However, according to Section 13 of the Act, a lower-level offence for actions like displaying hand held placards in support of a proscribed group carries a maximum sentence of six months imprisonment or a fine of five thousand pounds or both.

Civil liberties groups and human rights bodies have denounced the proscription move as disproportionate. Their concern was not primarily whether Palestine Action’s tactics might violate existing criminal law. One might reasonably argue that they did unless they might sometimes be justified in the name of preventing a greater crime.

But reframing those actions as “terrorism” represented a dangerous category error. As many pointed out, terrorism has historically referred to violence against civilians. Expanding it to cover property damage risks draining the term of meaning. Worse, it arms the state with a stigma so powerful that it can delegitimise entire political positions without debate.

The implications go further. Proscription does not simply criminalise acts. It criminalises expressions of allegiance, conscience and even speech. To say “I support Palestine Action” is no longer an opinion but technically a serious crime. The state has moved from punishing deeds to punishing expressions of solidarity — a move with chilling consequences for democratic life.

Parliament Square: Civil Disobedience on Trial

It was this transformation that brought nearly 1,500 people into Parliament Square on 6 September. They knew what awaited them. Organisers announced in advance that protesters would hold signs reading: “I oppose genocide. I support Palestine Action.” In doing so, they openly declared their intent to break the law.

The crowd was strikingly diverse. Retired doctors, clergy, war veterans, even an 83-year-old Anglican priest. Disabled activists came in wheelchairs; descendants of Holocaust survivors stood beside young students. This was not a hardened cadre of militants but a cross-section of society, many of whom had never before faced arrest.

At precisely 1 pm, the protesters all sat or lay down silently, cardboard signs raised. There was no chanting, no aggression — only a quiet insistence that they would not accept the criminalisation of conscience.

The police response was equally predictable. Hundreds of officers moved systematically through the crowd, arresting anyone displaying a sign. By the end of the day, nearly 900 people were detained under counter-terrorism law. It was one of the largest mass arrests in modern British history.

Official statements later alleged police were met with violence — officers punched, spat on, objects thrown. Yet independent observers, including Amnesty International, contradicted this. They reported a peaceful assembly disrupted by aggressive policing: batons drawn, protesters shoved, some bloodied.

www.amnesty.org/zh-hans/documents/eur45/0273/2025/en/

Video footage supported at least some of Amnesty's report.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZQGFrqCf5U&t=1283s

The two narratives were irreconcilable, but only one carried the weight and authority of the state.

The entire event unfolded as political theatre. The government proscribed a group, thereby creating a new crime. Protesters, convinced the law was unjust, announced their intent to commit that crime peacefully. The police, forewarned, staged a vast operation. Each side acted out its script. The spectacle allowed the state to present itself as defending order against extremism — while in reality silencing dissent.

The Humanitarian Context: Why Protesters Risked All

To see the Parliament Square protest as a parochial dispute over free speech is to miss its driving force. The demonstrators were not there merely to defend abstract principles. They were responding to what they, and a growing body of international experts, describe as a genocide in Gaza.

By September 2025, Gaza had descended into almost total collapse. Over 63,000 Palestinians had been killed, the majority of them women and children. More than 150,000 had been injured, many maimed for life. Entire neighbourhoods had been flattened. Famine was confirmed in August, with Israel continuing to impose and even tighten deliberate restrictions on food, water, and fuel, a strategy condemned by human rights groups as a major war crime. Hospitals lay in ruins. Ninety percent of the population had been displaced.

It is in this context that the term genocide has been applied. Legal scholars point not only to mass killings but also to the deliberate infliction of life-destroying conditions, accompanied by rhetoric from Israeli officials dehumanising Palestinians as “human animals.” In September 2025, the International Association of Genocide Scholars declared that Israel’s actions met the legal definition of genocide.

www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cde3eyzdr63o

Major NGOs, UN experts, and even Israeli human rights groups such as B’Tselem echoed that conclusion.

For the protesters, then, the question was not abstract but immediate: faced with what they saw as a genocide, could they in good conscience remain silent while their own government criminalised resistance to it? Their answer was to risk arrest, their placards making the moral connection explicit: opposing genocide meant supporting those who sought to stop it.

The Price of Dissent

The mass arrests in Parliament Square were not an isolated incident of law enforcement. They were the product of a broader trajectory: escalating tactics by a direct-action movement, a humanitarian catastrophe abroad, and a government determined to suppress dissent at home through the bluntest of instruments.

The official line insists that Palestine Action’s campaign constituted terrorism and thus warranted proscription. On this view, the arrests were simple enforcement of the law. Yet this account obscures the deeper reality: a precedent in which the state redefined non-lethal protest as terrorism, shifting from punishing actions to criminalising expressions of solidarity.

The cost is profound. Once speech and conscience themselves become suspect, dissent is no longer tolerated but pathologised. The chilling effect is already evident: individuals weigh not just whether to join a protest, but whether uttering support might expose them to years in prison. Terror laws, originally justified as a shield against mass violence, are recast as tools of political management.

The protesters understood this. That “thousand-yard stare” captured in their faces was not only the weight of potential arrest, but the knowledge of Gaza’s devastation, the famine and rubble, the deaths mounting daily. It was also the recognition that their own government had chosen to silence them rather than address its complicity.

In a functioning democracy, the question is not why citizens risk arrest for holding a handwritten cardboard sign. It is why a state finds it necessary to treat that act as a terror offence. The answer reveals a narrowing of democratic space, where conscience itself is deemed subversive. And that narrowing, history teaches, carries consequences not just for those arrested, but for the society that allows it.

Ned Mansour - Beautifoto Model

Please check out my Role Play Story

The Reception Game

Based on actual experiences instigated by my ”Peeps”

Comments and Feedbacks are profoundly appreciated and reciprocated

A rather roguish Game of Dare played and pickpocketed out at a fancy dress wedding reception

Cadence Abbot,Craig Abbot,Ginny B. and Brian Mc

Mystery Chicanery thief jewel tomfoolery prank pickpocket romance trick shenanigans

The Reception Game

Chapter 1

A forethought

“The wedding was a bit over the top. The bride wanted her girl’s dresses to be something they would wear out again. A nice thought, but the gowns she found were a little too long for anything but formal evening wear, according to our girls who were asked to be part of the bridal party. The maid of honour wore a red silk version; the six Bridesmaids wore theirs in black satin.” Each of the girls had also been presented with a matching collection of Swarovski rhinestones “traditional classic darlings”! The jewellery, when added to the girl’s ensemble, further enhanced the red carpet like the atmosphere of the Bridal party coterie’!

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Intro of the story proper:

“A few years ago, “Ginny” was watching some type of show when I heard her squeal out. Our Golden Retriever ‘Sam’ meandered back in to see what all the fuss was about? I obediently followed. Ginny pointed out to us a model who was wearing, rather fetchingly I might add, a long black satin gown. That’s m’ gown Ginny exclaimed, you remember, the one I wore at “Sheila’s” wedding, the one where my necklace was sn…., But at that point her attention was diverted back to her program. Squirrel I teased as Sam and I watched with her.

It was a gown strikingly very similar in colour, cut, and material to the one worn by Ginny ( and me sister) at a chums wedding years before ( and winningly worn several times hence I might add). It is a pretty thing to behold my charming Ginny sporting it, and in its time, it has born witness to a few goings-on that most ladies wearing a gown like that would never encounter…….”

Chapter 2

Story Proper begins

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This story is true and is really pretty much told as it happened.

What we did may sound daft, but read and understand the circumstances, plus realize we all were pretty well lit up with the drink.

I will plead guilty at having enhanced certain aspects of the story.

For indeed, the truth can be stranger than fiction… and coincidences occur, both sweet and bitter….. as I’m sure someone once said.

So here goes it….

My twin sister and our friend “Ginny” were invited to join a school chums bridal party. The groom didn’t have enough to go around so my sister’s boyfriend “Brian” and I was pressed, not unwillingly, into service.

As I stated earlier, the wedding and reception were both over the top posh. So much so that our opinions, and subsequent escapades, were still coming up amongst us as a topic of conversation at our local haunt The ‘Poet and the Peasant Pub’, kept by Brian’s Auntie and Uncle...

www.flickr.com/groups/poet_and_the_peasant__pub_/

The Wedding proper was held at the local Cathedral. A rather decadent place built with a hearty clash of gothic/ medieval styles; with black stone towers, Lancet arches, and fly away buttresses.

Inside one finds white marble columns, oak pews blackened with age, intricate woodwork and ghostly while statues. All lit with hanging diamond shaped antique glass lights and colourful lead glass stained windows depicting a horde of medieval era religious scenes.

I twas a fine backdrop for the rather glamorously attired guests in attendance. The wedding ceremony itself would have been an interesting tale in and of itself, but that telling will await another day, for mine has its’ beginnings at the Reception.

The Reception was held in the basement, a grand place with an opulent ballroom, well-stocked bar room and elegant dining area. The subterranean basement was decorated richly along the same grand lines as the interior of the ancient Cathedral above.

We were some time at the reception when my Ginny , who had been held up on her way back from the loo by a snobbish dowager feeling the need to criticise someone, regained her seat by plopping down with a loud woosh.

That was a chore, being picked apart by that “lovely !” creature. she exclaimed cynically, whilst adjusting her loose brooch. We all just smirked. I had received the same treatment from the lecturing prig earlier that evening.

Well, to be honest, my twin sister and Brian just actually were smirking at that. I believe my attention at the time was rather more occupied on the area where Ginny’s Brooch lay, which was the proper cause of my smirk! (naughty me)

Finished, Ginny than leaned against my sister, and, still reeling from being inappropriately chided, made a snide comment about the flimsy clasps on the shimmering jewelry they were wearing. My Sister, touching her necklace, told her, “ no worries, luv, no one would nick them anyways, they are only rhinestones”. Except my ring isn’t, said Ginny looking down at the ruby ring she was wearing on her pinky. My sister, thinking a minute, retorted “Then one never knows… “, It looked like she was going to add something to that, but at that point the band restarted, and we joined the swarm of fancy dress gowns, silky dresses, suits and tuxes worn by the chic guests as they herded to the dance floor.

As we headed off, I was still perplexed about what had been going on in Sis’s head that made her come out with that reply, and I swear she had stolen a look at me while saying it. But as I had watched her pull at an earring to emphasize how loose the sparkling jewel was, a seed was planted in my head about a subject I myself had always found rather intriguing, pickpocketing jewelry!

Chapter 3

Chicanery

Much later that evening, found Brian, my sister, and I alone, and probably more than a little drunk (always a precarious time with us). As Sis and Brain chatted on about a topic I had soon lost interest in, I started to watch Ginny, who had been asked to dance by some twit with shifty eyes in a red silk shirt, (open collared), who had rudely cut in on us. As I watched Ginny’s swishing gown liquidly move and flutter about in quite an interesting exhibition, I found meself mesmerized by the beckoning manner in which her healthy display of rhinestones were tantalizingly sparkling about( as they had been all evening). I looked back at my sister, and her own show of jewelry, also sparkling up nicely against the smooth black satin backdrop of her own matching gown...

Still not being able to shake me twin’s earlier comment about nicking jewels, nor its answer, out of my head, I waited for a lull in conversation to finally chance asking my twin about her comments.

She looked at me, having to think back a bit about the question, ( As I said, we were more drunk than sober by then), placing a nicely ringed finger to her lips, while regrouping her thoughts. Got it, she exclaimed! Proudly remembering what had triggered her memory, and with that, she started to explain.

When she was a tyke of about 7, there was a show that she had seen on the tele that centered on this group of people trying to reform a thief. Believing that he had turned a new leaf, they threw a fancy dress dance for him in honour of his new ways. During the dance, he cut in and danced with each of the three ladies who had been trying to teach him the errors of his ways. From one he slipped off her long diamond earrings, from a second her diamond necklace was lifted away, but me sister was unsure what the scoundrel took from the third. Sis had reckoned that the earrings and necklaces that she and Ginny were wearing that evening, looked a lot like the ones worn by ( and nicked from) the ladies on that show.

Now, as me twin described the thief’s antics, certain emotions awakened, rearing their tantalizing heads; my mind began wandering in some deep waters, pulled bout by some deep personal emotions. Cause I had been sitting on the couch with her when as quite young children, we had seen a repeat of that episode.

As it happened my sister had been outside earlier playing dress up in one of mum’s old party frocks and was still wearing it, along with a set of costume pearls. Suddenly, that day, I wanted nothing more in the world than to lift the pearls she was wearing. I simmered over it for the rest of the program, getting to the point of actually laying my arm on the back of the couch, inching my fingers towards the clasp of her pearls laying there upon the back of her throat. But then the show ended, and I got no closer to stealing anything more than a touch of a quite soft old evening gown. After the show ended, I warily suggested we go back outside and play Robin Hood (my sister has always been into his story).

We did, and as Sir Robin led her to his hideout, conveniently located through a thicket of Hawthorne’s, the pretty Maid Marion’s pearls mysteriously melted away.

That is when I had I had my epiphany, hitting me like a brick wall! Waiting till sis finished her story, I pointed out to Ginny, and asked the pair, If Ginny had been the third lady he had danced with, what jewels do you think he would have found easiest to lift from her while dancing?

Chapter 4

A Devious Dare

Brian, always the more pragmatic of the group, snorted, that rot only happens in stories and movies mate!

I said I would bet it can be done!

This quid says I can lift a piece of Ginny’s jewelry with her never noticing. Sis chimed in, you wouldn’t dare, but she was looking at me like she knew the answer already. Brian caught her tone, and took me up on it, betting me the quid that I couldn’t get away with lifting her necklace,( I liked his choice, it had been a necklace that “Sir Robin” had first lifted from me sisters neck that day in the woods long past).

At this time the music ended, and Ginny swished back to rejoin us. As we played mute about our plans, we welcomed the damsel back and acted like there had been nothing in the world goin on amongst us while she was out dancing.

We drank and talked for a bit more, and I was all but certain that Brian and my sister had all but forgotten the wager.

But I hadn’t, nor had I been able to keep my eyes from studying the glittery rhinestones Ginny had draped around her pretty throat. When a slow song started up, I rose and asked Ginny to a dance. I caught Brian’s eyes, and read the dare reflecting in them, so we were still on with the wager.

Leading Ginny to the dance floor, we embraced, and danced to the pretty song beginning to play, it twas a slow romantic one ( lady in red If I recall correctly). Ginny was absolute pure heaven in my arms, and I found me self so entrapped by her charms, that all ambitions to be a thief and make an attempt upon her lovely rhinestone necklace fell to the wayside.

As the song was ending, I caught a look from Brian across the dance floor, noticing that he smugly was looked at Ginny’s throat. I did not want to lose me quid on principle (I swear), so as the dance ended I held onto Ginny, waiting. Soon a second song started, disappointedly a more fast-paced one with a Latin beat. I spun Ginny around onto the floor before she had time to catch a breath, we danced, like the song which played says:

And we… danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced

We were liars in love and we danced

Swept away for a moment by chance

And we danced, danced, danced

And dance we did, hot, furious and fast. A couple of times I spun Ginny around, and the poor girl already a bit tipsy, fell against me, giggling. About the third time I spun her, she stopped, and dropped backside into me and began to do this sort of gyrating move, slithering up and down my front side, with her hands held high above her head, her longish ginger hair had fallen over one shoulder, exposing her necklace in all its fine brilliance. As her warm, sweaty figure slipped up and down against mine, I watched the back of her throat, eyeing the necklace as it sparkled opulently in the dim lights. I started Studying, intently, the sparkly chain with its simple hook in eye clasp.

She brought her hands down behind me back, crossing them behind me waist. My right hand went to the front of her waist, holding onto her squirming, satin slippery sweating figure, pressing her warm body tightly against me.

My left hand went up to her shoulder, gliding along with the glossy slick fabric of her black satin gown until I reached her necklace. It only took seconds for my fingers to lift up, and slip off the hook from its” eye”, letting the shimmering chain slither down the front side of Ginny’s satin clad breasts. My right hand left her waist, and traveled nimbly, tingling, all the way up the front until my fingers grasped the dangling chain. My left hand let go, and the necklace whisked down the front of her perking bosom, tightly covered by the glossy black satin bridesmaid gown. The whole bit of thievery took me only a few chords of the music, but it seemed to be carried out in slow motion in the process.

We finished out the song, me basking in the fact that my gyrating partner was innocently unaware that her shiny necklace had been pinched, and was now residing in her dance partner's vest pocket!

I will admit feeling a twinge of regret that it no longer could be seen glittering from around its’ mistress’s now bare throat.

Chapter 5

The Race to be unnoticed

We made our way back to the others, Brian had a smug look on his bearded face, I knew he was up to something. As I sat down, he whispered double it or nothing mate, that she notices it’s missing before we leave. I nodded, taking him up on it.

So, the game was still on, and for the last two hours that we stayed at the reception poor Ginny became the unknowing centre of our somewhat devious game1

Brain, eagerly waiting for Ginny to notice her missing necklace, tried, for the most part, to remain mute. I sweated it a bit, but his saboteur’s tactics failed.

I’ll admit I hadn’t thought it out before agreeing, but what probably should have been a suckers bet, with a million ways for Ginny to notice her necklace was playing hooky, apparently was going with the long odds for me to win.

I sweated it a bit, but no-one else amongst the crowd pointed out, or even seemed to care that Ginny was no longer wearing her necklace! Even the bloke in the open-collared re shirt, who managed to steal Ginny away for another dance, failed to say anything. Which made me a mite curious as to where his attention span had been focused.

Even when me sister tried to help Brian out by playing with her own jeweled necklace while she held Ginny’s attention during the conversation, and then again in the ladies' powder room flashing her necklace in the mirror, she failed to cause a reaction!

Through all this, the poor creature never quite caught on that her necklace had been lifted from her throat! Unscrupulously nicked away on a whimsical bet while innocently dancing!

And continued danced with me she did, all of us thoroughly enjoying the rest of the evening’s attractions, along with the bit of fun we were having at poor Ginny’s expense.! But I made damn sure that our poor victim had the time of her life for my repentance.

Then during our last slow dance, I did start to harbour the prickling thought of trying for another of Ginny’s baubles. But the thought of winning 2 quid from Brian, who in his time has won a bit more from me than I from him, kept my thoughts of further thievery in check! I knew my spirit was weakening. Fortunately, we left soon afterwards….

Chapter 6

Innocents Abroad

We finally left the reception after midnight and made our way along the ten city blocks back to the hotel where Ginny and my twin sister shared a joining room with Brian and meself.

Ginny walked calmly with us, unaware of the picaresque devils that were us, keeping pace beside her. As were making our way through a short cut in a wooded Provincial park, we stopped in a small isolated glen and circled around Ginny. Sis was grinning as she asked poor unawares Ginny; So luv, whatever did happen to your necklace? Gin’s reaction was absolutely, rewardingly priceless.

Ginny, a relatively innocent soul, who is prone to believing most anything told to her, started, and her hand went to her throat, feeling about fruitlessly, as her rustling glossy gown and remaining jewels glistened darkly sparkling in the full moons’ light.

“M’ necklace, why it’s gone? , where did it go! she pleaded helplessly, her thought patterns and speech a little slurred by her rather intoxicated condition. We then got into it, playing dumb along with her, and tried to figure out the “mystery” I said the last time I saw it was when that seedy bloke cut in, and I ran my hand up her back, feeling the shivers going down her spine, did the blighter touch you like that, then luv. No she said, then thought hard, no she repeated, he couldn’t have, he was a proper gentleman, and it was only rhinestone like your sister said.

I don’t know said Brian, never trust any gent who doesn’t wear a tie to fancy dress! He had to ‘ave been up to no good, that one!

My sister then commented that the bloke may " have not noticed no difference", and she held out her own necklace, I’m glad he didn’t ask me to dance.

No, Ginny shook her head, her long earrings flickering a frenzied fire out from her let down ginger hair, no one could have lifted them like that, I’d have felt it….I’m sure of that…!

She looked desperately around at us, then seeing the look on upon our faces, Ginny froze with the realization that we had all been up to something, and, then a smile of relief showed up on her pretty face, as I held up her necklace, sparkling in front of her eyes. A sly look of understanding that we had been up to something crept into those dazzling green eyes, as she told us now to spill it out.

We explained the whole tale as Sis helped Ginny place her necklace back on. Ginny, with her usual good humor, said she had never noticed a thing, and it probably was a good thing we weren’t real thieves because if her necklace had been diamonds, it would have been worth a small fortune. And shame on us for having her believe it was that poor blighter in the red shirt.

We wouldn’t’ make very good thieves I agreed we drink too much. She just smiled, a curious-looking gleam creeping up into those witchy green eyes of hers. Let’s get going before we meet a real thief then, urged my sister, all this talk about someone thinking our jewels are real is giving me the right chills.

Our drunken little group then merrily, if not a little more guardedly, made our way home...

Chapter 7

Farewell My Lovely

This next bit is my favorite.

We rode the elevator up to the boy’s room, as the girls called our room, where we drank beer, danced to music and talked on a bit about the reception. The girls stayed in dress and I happily soaked up the rather pretty picture the pair of admirably attractive girls presented with their long sheets of straight hair now just hanging down, their “diamonds” sparkling and all other assorted frills enticing.

About two hours later found Brian and myself sitting on the couch in kind of a hazy stupor while holding onto our beers. Ginny and my sister were standing directly in front of us, holding beers of their own and giggling over some girlish nonsense, the hypnotic swaying of their longish glossy black satin gowns slowly putting me to sleep.

Brain, draining his beer, got up to get another, bumping against my sister and playfully grabbed a handful. My sister started giggling at him as he sauntered off grinning, turning her figure so the brooch at the centre of her gowns’ waistline almost whacked me on the nose. Half asleep I reached over and gingerly lifted it up.

Looking up at the girls I saw that neither was paying no never mind towards me. Ginny, however, laid a hand on my twin's shoulder, drawing her close so she could whisper some girlish secret about Brian. I continued on and was able to undo the brooch and slip it carefully off without notice. I slipped her jewel into my pocket; waiting until I could think, now that I did the deed, just how I would tease her about it.

Brian stopped on the way back and reset the music, a slow song came up. Sis went to him, and the pair started dancing. I rose and took Ginny by the hand, followed suit, leading her to the bit of a dance floor we had cleared. She was again, pure heaven in my arms and my hands slipped liberally up and down her smooth, slinky gowned figure.

Ginny smiled! I knew that smile and realized that something was going on behind her pretty green eyes.

She flicked back her sheet of ginger hair and leaned against me. I saw you, she huskily whispered, her voice putting a tickle in my ear. Saw me I asked, not getting it. I saw you lift that dame’s diamond brooch, Ginny said in a sultry voice as she looked over towards where my sister was dancing, (no, she was actually swooning), in Brian’s arms.

Now mate, you see that one over there, in the black dancing with the bearded gent? I looked over, as she continues, look at ‘er necklace, I have a fancy for diamonds, and if you don’t want me to call security, I suggest you get hers for me, darling, she said with conspiracy-like tones, acting like she was some old-time actress in a movie. I loved the devilishness of Ginny’s role play idea and it did not take much to toss me, whole heart and soul, into the assignment!.

Chapter 8

To Please a Dame

Now wide awake, I got fully into Ginny’s game. As we continued dancing, my eyes watched Brian and me sister, taking careful inventory of all the “dames” sparkling jewelry. Sis turned, and caught my eyes looking her over, she blushed, and not knowing what was really going through my mind, smiled at me. As I smiled back, my eyes drinking her fetchingly attired figure up!

I was imagining that all of her ample collection of rhinestones so prettily positioned on her figure, were real diamonds. And that I was an actual thief plotting to nick her lovely sparklers. I looked into Ginny’s eyes. You have a deal miss, I whispered, making my voice deep and throaty, as I imagined meself as some, albeit drunk, Humphrey Bogart type character in some grittily shadowy film noir style black and white movie.

The song ended and a second, even slower one began playing. Brian and my sister were still locked into each other’s arms, but I felt that the time to make my move was now. Throwing Ginny a wink, I went over and cut in, Brian looked drunkenly at me like “whattsup chap,” but Ginny was right behind and swirled him conveniently away before he could properly react.

And as I took the pretty, wide-eyed with innocence looking “dame” into my arms I found it exciting that she was oblivious to my nefarious intentions. Naïvely unaware, that in indifference to her own words earlier, someone did now want to nick the jewelry which was quite so merrily dangling from her svelte figure. Now, don’t forget at this point to me she was no longer my sister, but a sweet innocent victim weighted down with desirable loot. And I? I was nothing more than a suave thief deliciously hungering after her bright baubles, albeit, a slightly inebriated suave thief!

I bided my time, appearing to look into my twins/victims half-opened eyes ( she was really quite lit by this time, as we all were), my mind was working overtime on how the best approach to reach my objective. Then it came to me, quite clearly, and so Bob became my uncle, and I began his suggested approach…. And if I would have dared say so at the time, I executed my bit of jewel thievery like a pro…. That is if there are actually pros at this sort of thing1?

Employing the same method that I remembered the thief using in the Gilligan’s Island episode to remove his dance partners necklace, I began to compliment my twin on how devastating her and Ginny looked both looked that evening (no lies), slowly moving my one hand up the slick material of the gown covering her back as I whispered my praise. Easily I reached the dangling part of her hook and eye necklace with its’ glittering rows of “diamonds”. She ate it up, blushing and closing her eyes, naively cooperating by tilting her head down, exposing even more of the back of her throat, and laying bare the chain of her “diamond” necklace. As she fawned over my words of (not false) praise, I subtly lifted up the chain of her necklace, whilst my free hand held her ever so her tightly around the waist. For the second time that evening, I could feel the heat emanating from my victim's squirming figure. As well as again feeling me own heart pounding a storm.

I gently used my free left hands’ fingers to unhooked the clasp, and let the necklace fall over her one shoulder. Sis never felt it hanging, or noticed it as I peeled it off her chest (whisking along her gown smooth as silk) and pulled it over her gown’s satin shoulder till it slipped sparkling down behind her. I held it hanging loose behind her back for a few turns, still pouring out the compliments, until I pocketed it, letting it join her purloined brooch.

Meanwhile, Brian had left Ginny to go to the loo, and I saw Ginny, who had been eagerly watching all of it, give me a wink. Then she turned and stole out the apartment door, her longish slinking gown slipping through behind her as she closed the door. I made ready to make some excuse to break away from my sister and head after her with my loot.

But just as I opened my mouth to make that excuse, Sis pulled her arms behind me head, and laid her own head back on my shoulder and closed her tired eyes, getting into the music’s deep beat. One of her longish rhinestone earrings just hung there sparkling, mocking me to touch it, and like Ginger's diamonds, I saw them as quite ripe for the picking.

With the prize within my grasp, I momentarily forgot about the departing Ginny, and I made my move. I found meself trembling a bit, as I reached up and placed my hands gently alongside her ear, her eyes still shut, my victim smiled prettily. The rest of the maneuver was surprisingly easy, as I glided my fingers down and slipped it off the earring in one effortless motion. The sparkling beauty came away from her sweaty ear as smoothly as an ice cube moves along a steaming hot grill ( I actually did have a thought like that).

I held it in one fist for a bit, watching my victim, she had not felt so much as a tickle on her earlobe, as I had removed her earring. Relishing in my success, I looked at it dangling and shimmering in my hand behind her back. Then, as I secured her diamonds away, I thought about trying for the other. But thought better of it, knowing Ginny was just waiting on the other side of the door.

I finished out the dance, taking my sister's hand with its dazzling bracelet and rings, and admired them while I kissed it, the “Dames” Bracelet tantalizing slipped down along her wrist and brushed against me knuckles. At that moment, we both heard the toilet flushing, and my twin looked over her shoulder laughing. As she did do, I saw an opportunity opening up and taking her dangling diamonded bracelet in me fingers, tugged it down ever so discreetly. Surprisingly the clasp popped opened ( right about being flimsy luv, I silently agreed with my twin’s earlier statement)!

I daringly pulled it free from around her wrist and slipped it in me pocket just as she turned back around to face her dance partner. I could see in her eyes that she had not felt nor noticed anything out of place.

“I’d better be off after Ginny”

I said, clearing my throat, and then, with no fanfare, let go of her hand. It dropped to her side, rings flashing, purloined bracelet gone from where it had, with cheeky regally, had been holding shimmering court all evening.

“Nice doing business with you!”

I said, bemused as I watched the puzzlement creep into her half-awake eyes while I backed away from her towards the door.

And that chaps, is how I left her. With my grainy black and white movie still playing out in my mind.

She just was standing there puzzled, a wealthy lady in fancy dress, unknowingly watching the dashing stranger leave, along with the “fortune” in her jewels she had foolishly been wearing in a dive like this!

. She innocently watched me as I left the room with her “diamonds” in my scoundrel’s possession!

Chapter 9

A Quite Curious Encounter

Ginny came swishing into view from around the corner as I shut the door with a subtle click.

I smiled fully as she came up to me and started to say something to her, eager to caw about my evil deviousness.

She smiled and place a finger to my lips. Her hazel green eyes smirked as she said “Not yet lad, let’s take a walk away from here, what needs to be done next is best done in secret.”

“You mean the jewels “ I started to ask but she shushed me.

“That and ... other things laddie she said with a sly look in her eyes!

So we took the stairs down and made our way out into the unusually light foggy evening!

For the world was now ours, as we made our journey together, hand in hand.

We ended up making a very long stroll in the Provincial Park, and reentering the same isolated, secret glen we had been in earlier.

It was not until then that We proceeded to continue acting out the role-playing game we had started at the apartment.

Ginny went to the middle of the clearing to wait, pretending she was smoking, like a moll from a gangster movie.

I circled and watched her sparkling figure, black shiny gown and glittery diamonds, moving without purpose in the shadow of the glen.

And as I did, my thoughts wandered a bit, and I remember reflecting ( not for the first time) how in the older black n whites, the heroine, or villainous, is always wearing gowns, elegant long gloves, and jeweled to the sparkling hilt.

Then she walks alone to and then waits in some dark alley or other desolate spots for her contact, or hero to show up, much like Ginny was acting out now.

So how is it that those fancy dressed and well jeweled unescorted dames, always manage to get to those spots and can wait around in them alone, in those movies, and nary ever meet a ruffian who strips them of those pricy looking sparklers they are flaunting about?

Just saying!

After murmuring a brief prayer that my thoughts were not about to be tempting fate of that type to occur to us now that I had been thinking it, I came out of the shadows and approached Ginny/femme Fatales.

Keeping my left hand in my pocket like I was carrying a heater.

“Hey sister, I said, been waiting long?”

“No, she whispered, did you get the goods.”

“Hot as ice I said proudly.” producing the necklace I had liberated from the dancing “dame” and dangled it hypnotically in front of her eyes.

As I showed Ginny my take from “the dame”, she squealing over the fact I was able to acquire the “Broads” necklace of dripping “ice”.

Playing a thief’s role, I kept mum about Acquiring the Dames earring, no honour amongst thieves I thought mischievously.

Which in the game we were playing, proved to be the right move.

As Ginny admired the necklace we both laughed over what the “dames” reaction would be when the jewels were discovered missing.

Then suddenly my cohort got a serious look in her eyes!

Then she, putting her hand inside the skirt of her gown, raised it and stuck it into my side like a pistol.

“Now lad, the Dames fancy broach, and I won’t yell bloody murder

for the Bobbies now, will I!”

I sighed dramatically while I reached into my pocket and handed the sparkler over. She looked at it delighted, then stowed it

“So luv, do I make a proper Femme Fatale or not ?”

“Not bad my luv, but not evil enough, should ave riffled me pickets!” I said, pulling out the glistening “diamond” earring.

“Really !” She’s shrieked, checking her ears as If I was holding her on of her own!

Realizing she still had em, she smirked

“Took those off her to? Just like a man to always take a lady for all’s she’s worth!”

“Well, with double-crossing Dames like you around, a poor pickpocket has to make his living somehow!

Besides, I left her an earring and her rings! Didn’t I now, luv?!

“Are you sure you didn’t take them also you weasel and are holding out more on me lad!” Ginny teased as she tried to put a hand in my tux jacket pockets

I grabbed her and we began to struggle as I tried to grasp onto her slippery figure laughingly.

As we snickered, Ginny caught my eyes and then we got off on a tangent about jewel thieves, then jewel thieves in love, and ended up re-enacting the “lure” scene from the movie ‘To Catch a Thief” ending up producing fireworks of our own making, as “the femme fatale “ Ginny lost all her jewels as well as her perceived “innocence”...

“kiss me you fool!” Cut, roll the credits...

Later, and a wee bit disheveled, the two of us then made our way back home, as the cock crows, receiving a few odd looks from the occasional early morning lorry drivers.

The End

*************************************** **************************************** *

Please consider leaving a comment at the end of the story if you rather liked the telling, or have had any similar experiences. We Would Love to Hear from You!

ADRIEN for www.jurgenkatzengruber.com

Profoundly lost... what happens when you follow the red arrow.

Visitors Centre, Memorial to the Somme Missing, Thiepval, France

Here we are again, another year passes, another year older...

November 11th 2014 is Armistice Day, 96 years since the end of the First World War.

in profound memory of:

Arthur Page of Ely, Cambridgeshire, a Serjeant in the 2nd Suffolks. He was my Great Grandfather. He was killed shortly before first light on the 20th July 1916 in an attack on Delville Wood on the Somme. He was 37 years old. He lies at Delville Wood Cemetery at Longueval on the Somme. His youngest daughter was my grandmother Phyllis Knott née Page.

Harry Anable of Dry Drayton, Cambridgeshire, a Private in the 11th Suffolks. He was my Great Great Uncle. He was killed just after 7.30 am on the 1st July 1916 at Sausage Valley just south of La Boiselle on the Somme. He was 19 years old. His body was never found. He is remembered on the Thiepval Memorial on the Somme. His sister's daughter was my grandmother Winifred Cornwell née Reynolds.

Herbert Page of Ely, Cambridgeshire, a Private in the 2nd Suffolks. He was my Great Great Uncle. He was a drummer in the Battalion band. He was killed on the 2nd March 1916 at St Eloi near Ypres. He was 30 years old. His body was never found. He is remembered on the Menin Gate in Ypres. His brother's daughter was my grandmother Phyllis Knott née Page.

Herbert Cross of Ely, Cambridgeshire, a Private in the 1st/5th Suffolks. He was my Great Great Uncle. He was killed at Gaza in Palestine on the 18th June 1917. He was 27 years old. He lies in the British Cemetery in the Palestinian State. His sister's daughter was my grandmother Phyllis Knott née Page.

Still loved. Never forgotten. A memory handed on, a keepsake, a promise unbroken.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

A thoughtful moment in the visitors' centre by the Thiepval Memorial to the Somme Missing, just outside of Albert in northern France. The memorial itself is inscribed with the names of 73,350 British and Empire soldiers who died but whose bodies were either never identified, or never recovered.

This is just a detail of an exhibit which displays 500 of the faces of the Missing. It would take nearly 150 of these displays to depict them all, and that is just the soldiers whose bodies were never found or identified from this one battle. Almost half a million British soldiers were killed, seriously injured or missing in the Battle of the Somme, 57,470 of them on the first day, July 1st 1916, including my great-great-uncle, Harry Anable. He was just nineteen years old. My great-grandfather Arthur Page was killed four miles away, 19 days later. He was thirty-seven years old.

How many of them must have set out with hope and excitement in their hearts! I thought of Philip Larkin, and his poem MCMXIV:

Those long uneven lines

Standing as patiently

As if they were stretched outside

The Oval or Villa Park,

The crowns of hats, the sun

On moustached archaic faces

Grinning as if it were all

An August Bank Holiday lark;

And the shut shops, the bleached

Established names on the sunblinds,

The farthings and sovereigns,

And dark-clothed children at play

Called after kings and queens,

The tin advertisements

For cocoa and twist, and the pubs

Wide open all day;

And the countryside not caring

The place-names all hazed over

With flowering grasses, and fields

Shadowing Domesday lines

Under wheat's restless silence;

The differently-dressed servants

With tiny rooms in huge houses,

The dust behind limousines;

Never such innocence,

Never before or since,

As changed itself to past

Without a word--the men

Leaving the gardens tidy,

The thousands of marriages

Lasting a little while longer:

Never such innocence again.

The memorial itself is vast, with great arches towering above the stone of honour.

"Glowing Embrace" masterfully captures the ephemeral dance of decay and beauty. Its rich, textured layers of yellows, browns, and blacks weave a tapestry of natural erosion and rebirth. This piece invites viewers to ponder the delicate balance of life's imperfections, making it a profound reflection on the resilience and transformation inherent in nature.

BOX MOUNTED PIECES are available. The archival print is mounted to a custom, handcrafted cradle frame. Hand textured with clear acrylic for a brushstroke finish and UV protection. Ready to hang.

LIMITED EDITION PRINTS on fine art cotton fiber paper using pigment inks for maximum long-term archival quality. Limited edition of 50 in each size.

Go to OstergaardArt.com for more information or to purchase this artwork.

© 2025 LuAnn Ostergaard

#art#LuAnnOstergaard #artistluannostergaard #color #boxmounted #artconsultant #artconsulting #contemporaryart

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Eating Dates Produces Powerful Health Benefits

By Sayer Ji •

Originally posted on GreenMedInfo.com

Since biblical times, dates were believed to possess profound healing properties, but only now is science catching up to confirm our distant ancestors knew exactly what they were talking about.

If you go by the Nutrition Facts panel of an ordinary package of dates, they look more like sugar bombs than a healthy snack. Check this one out:

But are they really as nutritionally vapid as these label claims make them seem?

Not by a long shot.

When we apply the complementary lenses of modern scientific investigation and ancient wisdom, dates begin to look like both a holy- and a super-food of immense value.

Here’s a neat example.

From the Koran to Clinical Trials: Dates for Better Birthing

In the Koran, the central holy book of Islam, Allah instructs the Virgin Mary to consume dates when she gives birth to Jesus.[1] And so, not surprisingly, dates are commonly referred to within the Islamic tradition as beneficial to pregnant women. We might chalk this up as “pre-scientific” magical thinking without basis in medical fact, were it not for a remarkable human clinical study that confirmed their value in pregnancy…

Published in the Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology in 2011 and titled, “The effect of late pregnancy consumption of date fruit on labour and delivery“, researchers set out to investigate the effect of date fruit consumption on labor parameters and birth outcomes. Over the course of 11 months at Jordan University of Science and Technology, two groups of women were enrolled in a prospective study where 69 women consumed six date fruits per day for 4 weeks prior to their estimated date of delivery, versus 45 women who consumed none. These women were matched so there was no significant difference in gestational age, age and parity (the number of times a woman has brought a pregnancy to viable gestational age) between the two groups.

The results of the date intervention were reported as follows:

•Improved Cervical Dilation: “The women who consumed date fruit had significantly higher mean cervical dilatation upon admission compared with the non-date fruit consumers (3.52 cm vs 2.02 cm, p < 0.0005).”

•Less Damage to Membranes: “[The intervention group had] a significantly higher proportion of intact membranes (83% vs 60%, p = 0.007).”

•More Natural (Spontaneous) Labor: “Spontaneous labour occurred in 96% of those who consumed dates, compared with 79% women in the non-date fruit consumers (p = 0.024).”

•Less Drugs Required: “Use of prostin/oxytocin was significantly lower in women who consumed dates (28%), compared with the non-date fruit consumers (47%) (p = 0.036).”

•Shorter Labor: “The mean latent phase of the first stage of labour was shorter in women who consumed date fruit compared with the non-date fruit consumers (510 min vs 906 min, p = 0.044).”

The researchers concluded:

“It is concluded that the consumption of date fruit in the last 4 weeks before labour significantly reduced the need for induction and augmentation of labour, and produced a more favourable, but non-significant, delivery outcome. The results warrant a randomised controlled trial.”[2]

Thanks to research like this we can see how the mythological and scientific ways of understanding now converge and confirm one another. I believe that rather than contradict and/or negate one another, the mythos and logos are beginning to assume a far more productive complementary relationship as we move into a new era of understanding where the profane and sacred are perceived as intimately entwined in our direct experience. The field of nutrition, as you can see, is no exception.

Dates Contain Nourishing Information

Dates, of course, are in the palm tree family, and along with coconut and red palm, are some of the oldest cultivated plants known in the historical record; in fact, they are so old we don’t know where they first originated. They have provided life-sustaining nutrition in regions that are often sparse in edible resources, and are increasingly being researched as a powerful medicinal food that could reduce much suffering in malnourished and disease prone populations, especially in underdeveloped countries.

Even while scientific analysis of dates are beginning to reveal that they are actually densely packed with a wide range of minerals, vitamins, amino acids and fatty acids, it should be emphasized that they are not just sources of energy and material building blocks for our body. We must acknowledge that they are also sources of biologically valuable (perhaps indispensably so) information. We can not analytically decompose a food into the minerals, vitamins, and macronutrients (e.g. lipids, fats, and protein), that we believe are responsible for its nourishing and life-sustaining properties, without losing quite a lot in the process. Foods contain hundreds, if not thousands, of physiologically important biomolecules, together which modulate the expression of thousands of genes in our body, as well as affecting our microbiome. In fact, our microbiome works on the foods we ingest, and together produce an intermediary layer of biomolecules known as the metabolome, many of which may be indispensable to our health.

This is why when we say food is medicine, we are not simply using a metaphor. We now know that food is capable, on a molecular level, of positively modulating a wide range of biological pathways simultaneously, in a manner that drugs simply can not replicate. In fact, I believe food contains an immense, if not infinite, amount of information which our bodies draw from to realize optimal gene expression, especially in times of stress or imbalance. Looking at it granularly, I believe food contains discrete units or packets of gene-regulatory energy and information. This can be inferred by the way curcumin, for instance, which is only one of hundreds of biomolecules found in the spice turmeric, is capable of modulating over 2,000 genes simultaneously within a cancer cell line, with a positive end result. Both the specificity and broadness through which these food compounds are capable of correcting imbalances is simply astounding and speaks to an intelligence within certain plants of particular food and medicinal purpose that can not be exhaustively explained through terms and methods of the reductionistic sciences that still form the backbone of our understanding of conventional nutrition.

So if my theory holds true, and dates, which are a food type (namely, fruit) we co-evolved with for quite some time, are more than just a package of mainly simple carbohydrate (half fructose/half glucose) and mineral quantities of alphabetic vitamins and minerals, but also possess gene-regulatory energy and information, shouldn’t it perform a number of therapeutic effects? Indeed, the research now bears testimony to exactly this fact.

I took the liberty of doing a cursory meta-analysis of the extant research on dates available through the National Library of Medicine’s biomedical database MEDLINE, accessible of course through the google-like search engine pubmed.gov. And to my pleasant surprise the research on dates as a whole (including the fruit, pollen and seed extract) reveals approximately 19 specific beneficial modes of action, and a preventive and/or therapeutic role in about 40 different health conditions.

Consider for a moment that most of the blockbuster drugs on the marketplace only have one therapeutic mode of action and one condition they are approved to treat. Additionally, there are on average 75 adverse health effects for each drug. The fact that it is classified and sold as a food and not a drug should not delude us into thinking it is not as powerful as a pharmaceutical. In fact, it should be clear that foods are actually far more powerful in affecting root cause resolution of health conditions by nourishing us deeply, nutritionally, and again, informationally (literally: to put form into).

To gain greater familiarity with the literature demonstrating the various therapeutic properties of dates, view our Date research page. You will notice that one of the potential therapeutic properties of dates are its beneficial properties in diabetes – which underscores our original point, that if you go by nutrition facts panels alone you are bound to miss out on a number of healthy foods include fruits like dates.

________________________________________

Notes

[1] The Holy Koran, Chapter 12 – verses 22-25, retrieved on Feb. 28 2015, “So she [Virgin Mary] conceived him, and she retired with him to a remote place. And the pains of childbirth drove her to the trunk of a palm tree. she cried (in her anguish): ‘Ah! would that I had died before this! would that I had been a thing forgotten and out of sight!’ But (a voice) cried to her from beneath the (palm-tree): ‘Grieve not! for thy Lord hath provided a rivulet beneath thee; And shake towards thyself the trunk of the palm-tree; it will let fall fresh ripe dates upon thee.'”

[2] [Note: “non-significant” here means insignificant in statistics, which is often due to insufficient numbers of subjects enrolled to draw results with adequate statistical power]

Source: foodrevolution.org/blog/dates-health-benefits/

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During our walk we saw the grave of

Greta Garbo (born Greta Lovisa Gustafsson; Swedish: [ˈɡreːˈta lʊˈviːˈsa ˈɡɵstafˈsɔn]; 18 September 1905 – 15 April 1990), was a Swedish-born American film actress during the 1920s

Garbo was cremated in Manhattan, and her ashes were interred in 1999 at Skogskyrkogården Cemetery just south of her native Stockholm.

This Stockholm cemetery was created between 1917 and 1920 by two young architects, Asplund and Lewerentz, on the site of former gravel pits overgrown with pine trees. The design blends vegetation and architectural elements, taking advantage of irregularities in the site to create a landscape that is finely adapted to its function. It has had a profound influence in many countries of the world.

Please do not use my images without my explicit permission.

The profound dichotomy between the "real me" and the "show me," is embodied by the enigmatic reflection in a mirror.

Taken: Nasim

@Stanley park

Skogskyrkogården

This Stockholm cemetery was created between 1917 and 1920 by two young architects, Asplund and Lewerentz, on the site of former gravel pits overgrown with pine trees. The design blends vegetation and architectural elements, taking advantage of irregularities in the site to create a landscape that is finely adapted to its function. It has had a profound influence in many countries of the world.

Please do not use my images without my explicit permission.

Some people dream of having bigger houses, or fancier cars........ While some people dream of just having a warm place to rest their head at night, and to know that there are still people out there who care about them.

Until the great melt off occurs, I am thinking of trying a shot at doing some more street photography. Makes one look at photography in a whole different light and I like the spontaneity factor! No tripod to carry around! :)

Delicate and profoundly strong. Tissuey pink, veiny blossoms and woody, nutty, star-shaped seeds. The contrast was compelling as my eye caught sight of it! The colors, the transparencies, the light!

Biscayne Park, FL

www.susanfordcollins.com

What a profound significance small things assume when viewed in all their greatness.

blog | website | facebook

Website | Flickr | Instagram | Twitter.

"What is more pleasant than the benevolent notice other people take of us, what is more agreeable than their compassionate empathy? What inspires us more than addressing ears flushed with excitement, what captivates us more than exercising our own power of fascination? What is more thrilling than an entire hall of expectant eyes, what more overwhelming than applause surging up to us? What, lastly, equals the enchantment sparked off by the delighted attention we receive from those who profoundly delight ourselves? - Attention by other people is the most irresistible of drugs. To receive it outshines receiving any other kind of income. This is why glory surpasses power and why wealth is overshadowed by prominence."

Caterina Fake, Co-founder of Flickr, 2005.

Over the course of the past 4 years, about every 2 years or so I've written a blog post that has been one of my most popular entitled "Top 10 Ways to Get Attention on Flickr." It's been a few years, Flickr's changed a bit, and so I thought I'd take a bit of time today to outline some of the techniques that active power users use on Flickr to get more attention for themselves and their photos.

Fundamentally it comes down to a pretty simple equation:

quality photos + reciprocation² = attention.

But there are lots of other little tricks and tips, so let's get right into them.

1. The order that you publish your photos in matters -- alot. A lot of people will take 50 snapshots of that killer sunset on their vacation and then upload them at random to flickr. Some are better, some are worse. At Flickr, those that call you contact predominantly only see your last photo uploaded or your last 5 photos uploaded (depending on their settings) from the popular "your contact's most recent uploads" page. The other 45 are effectively buried. Always upload what you feel are your best, strongest, etc. photographs as the last five and save the very last spot for the photo you want to pimp the most.

2. Explore, you whore. Explore is a section of Flickr where Flickr highlights what they feel are 500 interesting photos every day.

I used to have photos show up in Explore pretty much every week. Then Flickr staff blacklisted me from Explore (and their help forum) about 7 months or so ago after I wrote a blog post criticizing Flickr staff for nuking a popular group on Flickr that I administered. Payback's a bitch, right?

After having photos regularly appear in Explore every week since it started, they capped my ass in there at 666 photos (cute, because I'm the devil, get it?). That doesn't mean that you shouldn't consider Explore though. It's probably the fastest way to get a lot of views on any of your photos. Whilst everyone bitches about how full of crappy photos Explore is, secretly you know you all love it when your photos show up there.

Flickr claims to have a "magic donkey" formula which picks the photos for Explore. This "magic donkey" is really just an excuse though to avoid transparency/accountability about Explore. In general, the more activity a photo has (activity = faves, comments, notes, blogged, etc.) the more likely it is to show up in Explore. By putting your best foot forward (see item 1) and by focusing on promoting a popular photo of yours on a given day, (see below) it just might get there.

3. Promote your photos outside of Flickr. What are you doing to promote your photos outside of Flickr? Some things are super, super easy and involve no active participation on your part other than setting something up. Popular content aggregators on the web allow you to publish your Flickr photos out of Flickr, with valuable links back to your photos on Flickr.

Have you configured Flickr Tab on your Facebookery page yet? Why not? It's free and easy.

Have you signed up for Google Buzz yet? Google Buzz does a great job presenting your Flickr uploads and has a killer lightbox feature that allows people to see your photo BIG (if you allow it) on Google Buzz. I'm faving more Flickr photos that I'm finding on Google Buzz these days than from any other source. I fave more photos from Google Buzz than even Flickr itself.

Have you linked your stream to a FriendFeed account yet?

How about a photoblog? Anyone can set one of these up. They are so easy. And they have cool widgets that can do a lot of automated things for you. Check out the widget I'm using for my Flickr photos (to the right over there). It's called Fidgetr. It automatically pulls in the six most recent photos from my "10 faves or more set" on Flickr, making sure fresh new photos are constantly being published to thomashawk.com. Don't those large thumbnails rock!

4. Avoid watermarking, small-sized low-res photos, frames and other gimmicky crap. People don't want to see this stuff. It's a turn off. It pushes them away. Yes, yes, I know, you cry, but the thieves, the photo thieves, they all want to steal from me. GASP!

Get over it. You know what happens when people steal your stuff? Recently a friend of mine had an image of hers taken by a commercial entity. Do you know what we did? We contacted them, and after a little arm-twisting they paid her $700 for her photo. You know why? Because they had to. Because she could have sued them if not and probably gotten a lot more than $700 if she was inclined to put the time in it. Courts award statutory damages (not actual damages) for copyright theft. Trust me. If you like getting paid $700 for your photos, you WANT people to steal them. Put a big sign on the photo. "Steal Me, I Dare You."

With tools like Tineye, it's getting easier and easier and easier for you to find unauthorized commercial use of your photos on the web.

Sure, some dude is going to print up your big bouquet of sunflowers shot and hang it in his living room to impress his friends while they drink beer and watch football and you'll never find out about that use. Trust me, that dude wouldn't have paid for your photograph in the first place anyways.

As a byproduct, uploading full, glorious, high res, original photos to Flickr gives you one more backup of your precious photos in the cloud.

5. Moooooooooooo. Do you know about moo cards? Get some. They're cheap -- well, at least the little ones are cheap. Give them to everyone you can. When you are out and about and people talk to you about your photography say (in your best Jesse Pinkman from Breaking Bad voice possible) "Hey Yo, I'm slinging this camera, check me out here Yo," and hand them a moo card. Trust me, it works.

6. Groups. Most groups on Flickr are a waste of time. Dead groups where photo whores dump billions of photos in dead pools that nobody cares about and nobody sees. Your photos are quickly buried deep, deep, in the pool, never to be seen or heard from again. Avoid these groups. They typically have names like "Baskets! Show us all your photos of baskets!" or "You Say Tomato, I Say Tomato, show us all your photos of tomatoes!" Don't just dump your photo into 30 random groups.

Instead pick a few meaningful groups and actually hang out there and interact with people. You might consider a local group for where you live. Or a photo critique group. Or whatever. But find a few active groups (meaning several new threads are engaged in a day) and participate. I belong to a number of groups on Flickr, but 95% of my Flickr group time is spent in the critique group DMU. (Note, DMU is uncensored and not for everyone. Remember above where I told you that Flickr nuked one of our groups? yep.)

7. Fave it Forward! Have you heard of Billy Wilson? Because if you haven't, you will soon. Not to be confused with his second cousin and other Flickr legend Billy Warhol, Billy Wilson is the original Flickr fave machine! Billy has favorited more photos than anyone else on Flickr and he's showing no signs of slowing down. Want to know what happens when you fave almost 200,000 photos on Flickr? Just check out Billy's stream. How's that for getting some attention? Fave Billy Fave!

Now, you don't actually have to copy the Billy Wilson favoriting machine. He's an original and that's his gig. But. Don't be stingy with your faves either. If you like something fave the hell out of it. You can start here at my "10 faves or more set" if you'd like. You have an unlimited amount of faves to give out on Flickr. People love getting faves. People reciprocate.

Be like Billy, fave it forward.

Same goes for comments too. If you like something say so. Maybe you can be the next "nice photo" guy. Or maybe you can be known as that super hot chick who writes deep, meaty, insightful, witty, quirky comments on people's photos -- especially then, you'll be loved.

8. Tag for discovery. You know how people find many of your photos? Search. Don't be "that guy" who tags the 300 most commonly used keywords to your photos no matter what they are. I don't want to see that photo of your bikini clad girlfriend when I'm searching for puppy. Good boy.

But. Be descriptive. Be sure to tag the place the photo was taken. The subject matter. Anything relevant that people might use to search for your photo. Consider geotagging as well. The more discoverable your photos are, the more likely they'll be seen on Flickr.

Oh, also keyword at the file level, not on Flickr itself. It's much faster to keyword and geotag that way and also when Flickr ends up nuking your account (KABOOM!) you won't lose all of those tags and geotags that you worked so hard on adding to your photos. When you tag/geotag at the file level, these tags/geotags are automatically populated at Flickr when you upload your photos. Read about my workflow here for more on that.

9. Are you allowing the search engines to index your photos? If you aren't, you should be. You can check your settings on that here. I'd estimate that about 20% of the traffic to my own Flickr photos comes from search engines. Oh, and while you are in your settings, you might want to take a second and turn safe search off, we're all 18+ adults here right, even if Flickr does treat you as a child by default? Filtered Flickr sucks.

10. Certain subjects just seem to garner more attention. In general I've found that certain subjects tend to do better on Flickr than others. Your (and my) Egglestonian masterpiece of the sidewalk curb? Not so much.

But. Subjects that seem to garner a lot of attention. Attractive women (number one attention getter on Flickr, especially self portraits), motion or blur, silhouettes, images with stories in the description, some HDR, bokeh, abstract architectural photography, bridges, cityscapes, artwork by famed graffiti artist Banksy, you get the idea.

Also sometimes an interesting looking thumbnail will pull people in as well.

Well there you have it. 10 tips to get you more attention on Flickr. Use them in good health and with good company.

Disclaimer: remember my equation above? "quality photos + reciprocation² = attention" It doesn't matter how much work you do optimizing the promotion of your photos if they suck. Find your voice. Make your style. Create your art. But put time, energy and pride in the work that you share. Make the world a more beautiful place with the amazing work that you are capable of creating. The best photos in the world have yet to be taken.

Oh, and one final way to get a lot of attention on Flickr? Write long blog posts about getting attention on Flickr. It works every time. ;)

You can find me on Flickr here.

www.laliesorbet.com/

HH Younus AlGohar gives world leaders profound insight into the inner workings of ISIS (Daesh). He explains how ISIS utilise drugs in their terror campaigns around the world. Most importantly, he advises Western governments and the media on paralysing ISIS and effectively diminishing their influence - without even needing to use violence.

Read the article here: www.theawaitedone.com/articles/2015/11/29/how-to-paralyse...

The sun rising over the darkened landscape. Finding it's way to my camera. I feel the warmth and it only can bring happiness to the world. Our main dose of Vitamin C. Enjoy! :)

The Enchanted Midnight Forest offers a realm of profound mystery and captivating beauty. Ancient trees, cloaked in shadow, whisper secrets of ages past to those who venture within. Luminescent flora casts an ethereal glow, illuminating pathways unseen by the daylight world. The air itself hums with a subtle magic, inviting exploration and wonder. This nocturnal sanctuary promises an unforgettable experience for the intrepid soul.

profoundly inspired by dear hanna malou & martin valentin fuchs

I sensed a profound sadness in him. He was totally alone, seemingly waiting there for someone or something. I'll never forget it.

His name was Marzouq. He was nice and solemn. As we talked I certainly felt an emptiness there with him. I'm not sure what it was, but it was like there was something wholly unrealized in his life. While we talked, he looked at me strangely at times, a look of not knowing what to think of me and accepting me at the same time. It was comforting, and he was nice to talk to. He created the distinct impression that he was thinking about my questions before answering.

We were there, totally alone, in an unexpected rear corner of a Moghul monument. I always like to go around the backside and try to see the things that are not obvious.

After sitting to rest and talking a bit, he motioned behind him with a quick glance and raised eyebrows, and said cheerfully, "Want to see the bats?"

I said, "Are you kidding? Let's go."

Marzouq ducked down about ten feet from a smallish door with hard black shadows shooting inside. He began a near crab walk even while approaching the tiny door. I ducked my head too, which felt strange in the open air. Maybe he was afraid of bats streaming out, which I suddenly realized, causing me to duck down a little more than him.

He made little grunting sounds and kept waving his hand to the side for me to follow. After entering the door, a short walk, and a few turns, we ended up in what felt like a chamber. It could have been darker in there, but I don't know how. He grunted in a way like "watch this" and he flipped on a flashlight, shining it up into the half-domed room. There were hundreds of bats hanging there, totally silent. It was eerie as heck. I set up my camera but it was way too dark even with a slow shutter speed... and I didn't feel like light-painting with the flashlight because I thought it might look stupid and not really capture the mood anyway. We sat in there for a while handing the flashlight back and forth and making little grunt sounds. It was very strange, but entirely delightful.

From the blog at www.stuckincustoms.com

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Navigating through the ethereal landscapes of East Greenland aboard the ship Polarfront, I felt a profound connection with nature's most pristine artistry. The endless and layered landscapes were mesmerizing, with cathedral-like icebergs standing as timeless sentinels, their intricate crystalline structures reflecting hues of blue and white against the vast Arctic sky. Each iceberg seemed to whisper tales of eons past. At night, the dark sky was alive the Northern Lights, curtains of green, blue and purple danced above the mast of the ship.

As we ventured further into this frozen paradise, it wasn't just the majesty of the landscapes that captivated my lens but also the vibrant life that thrives amidst the seeming desolation. Majestic polar bears, with an aura of regal calmness, roamed the terrains, while the graceful musk-oxen moved with an understated elegance. The playful arctic foxes and elusive arctic hares added a touch of dynamism, punctuating the serene stillness with their antics.

But this voyage was more than just an immersion into nature's wonders; it was a soulful exploration of human endurance and spirit. When we anchored near Ittoqqortoormiit, one of the Arctic's remotest Inuit towns, I was welcomed into a world where tradition and modernity coexist. I was inspired by the stories of the locals - of their ancestors, tales of survival, and their deep-rooted bond with the ice-clad surroundings. Every evening, as I settled into the comforting embrace of the Polarfront, the day's adventures would replay in my mind – a poignant symphony of nature's grandeur and the indomitable human spirit, forever captured through my photographs.

A perfect trip.

The group, Profound Photography, wants "to share photography that has a deeper meaning than mere images." I've been looking through my aunt's photograph album and her autograph book. The photos seem gentle and the words they used in her autograph book touched so softly. I don't know, I get nostalgic when I see them. In these pictures are my great-aunts and uncles, their friends, and my mother and her sisters as babies. I feel privileged to see them like this.

For Flickr Group Roulette

A mountain is only a mountain when there is a valley next to it.

Otherwise, it is flat land.

Wow, that's so profound!

Nothing like quoting yourself to bring on a little humility.

~~Sheree~~ (smile)

Bigger and profoundly more vicious than its predecessors, the grapple droid was equipped with electrically charged industrial pincers, which are used to crush or impale enemies and obstacles. They could also be used to smash through stone walls. The grapple droid excelled at close-quarters combat and its embrace was quite deadly. They proved dangerously efficient against Jedi, who, if grappled, were unable to use a lightsaber.

General Grievous himself personally oversaw its modifications.

A little scene depicting a customs workshop at the foot of a huge dam. Not a very convenient place for clients to go to... There was meant to be a profound backstory, but I decided to skip this part :D

I had to be a bit economical to make a lower part count for render, so the rear and the base of this model are left somewhat unfinished.

Download this model!

So my question is, should I upload these creations? Or should I only reveal the ones I think are interesting (about 10% of all my models), just like I usually do?

I have such a profound respect for all my flickr friends that have such awesome Tiger beetle shots. They are quite the challenge to approach. After some chasing I decided on stealth. I don't believe you can sneak up on Tiger Beetles but I tried the "slide on my stomach" approach which finally worked. Might be this couple didn't care about me since they were otherwise occupied.

Time is an abyss profound as a thousand nights. And I am so very much alone. Alone in my darkness. I love the darkness and the shadows where I can be alone with my thoughts. Wait...what...no...don't come over. This wasn't a "Woe is me" moment where I was secretly yearning for company. Eww no. Go back to your business and leave me to my dark bidding.

You have to watch what you say when you're sat in the dark looking sullen and morose while quoting dark and depressing lines to yourself. Aaaah yes, I can see it now. If you'd come along half an hour earlier you'd have caught me talking to myself in a weird voice so there would have been no mistake that I was a person that you'd slowly slink away from before you made your way into my territorial bubble.

That's fine you can keep on walking...running...that looks like running. Fine, I'll just sit here where I realise that the absence of love is the most abject pain. See I'm confusing you now. Though I better watch or I may go beyond goth and skirt emo territory and I'm far too old to be dealing with that sort of angst. I'm not a teenager anymore I don't do angst. I do repression and denial like a proper adult.

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Image Serial No# B_63174

Description :

My wife and I share a profound appreciation for the beauty of Art Nouveau and the allure of Art Deco. Hence, during our recent trip to Vienna, earlier this month, we made it a mission to explore Otto Wagner's Karlsplatz metro station, also known as the Stadtbahn Pavilion. This architectural gem is a splendid exemplar of Art Nouveau design. The station's aesthetics are nothing short of captivating, with its intricate floral motifs, meticulous metalwork, and Jugendstil-style embellishments. Jugendstil, known for its blend of floral decoration and sinuous curves with geometric elements, finds its zenith in this masterpiece. Otto Wagner ingeniously employed modern materials such as iron and glass, creating a luminous and inviting space within. Beyond its visual charm, this station holds historical significance as a vital transportation hub, connecting the city via elevated and underground railway lines. While we marveled at the structure, I must admit that capturing its essence in a photograph proved to be quite challenging. Bright daylight posed a natural obstacle, and I struggled to find a composition that did justice to its grandeur. Nevertheless, I am eager to share this photograph, as it serves as a documentation of this remarkable architectural treasure — Karlsplatz, Vienna, Austria

This shot is inspired by the profoundly talented Rebecca.

So back in 2002 when I moved to California, I had never been here before.

I just packed my bags and drove.

And upon entering this crazy state, the first thing you notice is all the random farm animals on the side of the highway. Cow after cow encompassed most of the periphery of these roads. How could I drive on a government created super highway and be welcomed by random farm animals?!?!

The next thing I noticed was all the graves on the side of the highways.

How weird. How bizarre. How curious?! What the fuck was up with all the little tombstones on the side of these hectic streets?

I guess they were more like weird sticks that stuck in the most fantastic symmetrical fashion. Graves.. tombs.. dead people.. cemeteries?! This is the only thing I could fathom them being.

Turns out they are wineries. See – Central California has such FANTASTIC weather that it is prime for grapes and wine and whatever else. I had just never been exposed to such a thing.

Hell- where I am from, the only thing you’d see off of the highway would be a rest stop encompassed by a fast food joint and an overpriced gas station.

The shot at hand? Me walking hands in pocket in the hills of Oakland. The fog around here is especially intense this time of year. Sometimes the valley will be hot and limitless yet you just look towards the hills and you can spot the intense cloud mess that makes up your sky.

Location: Oakland hills; Oakland, California

Taken: September 12th, 2009

Posted: October 1st, 2009

Album of the Day: It’s Blitz by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

*=lapse

French intellectual precision is always marvelous to read and grasp...

Quite breathtaking!

It is sheer pleasure...

I can't wait to read this! Bernard-Henri Lévy is a brilliant and profound observer of the human condition. He is perhaps the foremost modern philosopher.

IMG_8694 - Version 2

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We cannot overstate how profoundly that final act of nudity brings certain themes of his life to a fitting conclusion. . . . Francis, lying on the ground in his nakedness, recapitulated his own birth when he came into this world like Jesus and every child naked to the world. When Francis stripped himself naked before his own father Pietro, and the Bishop of Assisi, Guido, [this was] part of his second birth as a wanderer for Christ. Once, he walked through a town naked with a halter around his neck to show his humility. . . . To these themes we now have Francis, giving away everything including his poor clothes, to be embraced by Mother Earth whom he had hymned so beautifully in his preaching and in his poetry. His nakedness is also a gestural reminder that it is from the clay of the earth we come and it is to the earth we return: “Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.”

-Cunningham, Francis of Assisi, 112–13.

Finally I got to meet this delightful man in person!! My official #harshbeautiful portrait of John Mercer, Professor of Gender and Sexuality at Birmingham City University. John wrote a beautiful essay for my Harshbeautiful book, about my “practice of care” in the way I relate to my sitters. John has published profoundly important books about objectification, and about gay pornography. Highly recommended.

.

To order yourself a copy of my book which features John’s essay: jamesmbarrett.com/limited-edition-book/

A profound lack of familiarity with the concept of mercy.

Ltd. edition handbound 'evidence' books available.

Details here: lauren-rabbit.deviantart.com/journal/18842732/

As seen in the Mission District, San Francisco.

Explored! #215, 02/06/12!

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Here we have one of Santa Elena's most profound geologic mysteries—one that cries out for 923-page PhD thesis that will win some aspiring scholar the right to do his or her post-doc at the local Burger King. Don't look at me. I'm too old and having too much fun to waste my time on that.

However, I am willing to share the following field data and hypotheses with any grad student who desperately needs some arcane and meaningless research topic to latch onto.

So here are the facts. Having been detached from one of the canyon walls, this slump block of Cretaceous limestone has come to rest in the bed of the Rio Grande. Seven decades of keen-eyed observational experience tells me that the Earth's gravitational field must have played a key role in this. No thesis material there.

Fortunately, I've also determined that this rock has acquired an strikingly glossy upper surface with a reflectivity quotient close to that of polished marble (see photo above). When I first saw this in person, I experienced a sort of intellectual breakthrough or epiphany. In a flash of unbridled inspiration I correlated this enigmatic feature, so uncharacteristic of the local carbonate rock, with other episodes of my unfunded field work. These were my 1973 and 1976 geophotographic expeditions to study the similarly shiny bedrock surface of the Crest Limestone, also Cretaceous, exposed on the Acropolis of Athens, Greece.

As specialists in the stratigraphy of the Attic-Cycladic Massif have noted, the Crest Limestone on the Acropolis got its shine (not to mention its treacherous slipperiness after a rain) from the wear of untold thousands of feet. Many of these were attached to human visitors who've walked on that natural stone flooring to get a closer look at the Parthenon.

I call this form of erosional activity pedigenic abrasion. Note my fabrication of a new and utterly unnecessary Latin-root term that substitutes for such perfectly good vernacular equivalents as foot polishing and foot wear by footwear. This makes me feel learned, academic, entitled, and priestly.

While there are no masterpieces of ancient Greek architecture in Santa Elena Canyon, nature has produced something else that is just as magnificent, and a lot of turistas come here, too. In fact, I've observed many of then perching on this rock to enjoy the incomparable view.

But the problem is that in this location the human beings do not so much walk on this rock as sit on it. This makes me think we're witnessing a somewhat different process at work: natigenic rather than pedigenic abrasion (natis, Latin = buttocks, English).

The good news is that both of these processes share a common origin, and in fact constitute subcategories of the umbrella concept of touristogenic abrasion.

Well, it's great that we've been able to create some more scientific terminology.

I tell you what: to take a gander at the other photos and descriptions in this series, y'all mosey on down to my my Exploring Santa Elena Canyon album.

And if you'd like to see what the devil I'm talking about with regard to the Acropolis and the Crest Limestone, visit this other Flickr post of mine.

"It's profound for a question, I'd have to say 'Take care of yourself and take care of the Planet !' She answered my question about her message to the world.

'Be good to yourself, don't worry too much', I'd say to the younger me," she answered my second question.

Pilar is Spanish, 'half Galician and half Catalan', living in Finland for the past eight years. She's Head of Unit in the European Chemicals Agency in Helsinki.

Pilar is actually a MD PhD in Hepatology, although she gave up her career in medicine for the benefit of the European Commission which she had joined some nine years ago.

Pilar loves Helsinki and her life here and I loved her genuine, positive attitude.

It was thanks to a ray of light, it shone on her as she was walking in my direction, which made me approach her for a portrait.

It was easy to make photos of Pilar. I liked her 'philosophical poet' look.

Pilar likes travelling and reading. She speaks some French and Italian, and naturally, Spanish and English.

When I showed her the photos she said she was flattered, which made me happy, as she usually didn't like photos of herself, she explained.

This is my 378th submission to The Human Family group.

Visit the group here to see more portraits and stories: www.flickr.com/groups/thehumanfamily.

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View On Black

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