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Lessinia 20251024
A soft hush settles over the Lessinia plateau
as the day leans gently into dusk.
Golden light spills across the rolling hills,
brushing the trees with fire—
amber, rust, and fading green
blending like a quiet hymn to autumn.
The land drifts downward in slow, tender waves
toward Lake Garda and the vast Po Valley,
where the horizon dissolves into a haze of silver.
Distant mountains rest like sleeping silhouettes,
their contours softened by the last warmth of the sun.
In this hour of calm surrender,
every meadow, every farmhouse, every shadow
seems to breathe in unison—
a world suspended between light and night,
held together by the fading glow
of a sun reluctant to leave.
Watercolour and conte on drawing paper.
During one of our group life drawing sessions we managed to convince this very unwilling fella to be our model, since the one we had hired never showed. He did a fantastic job, and over the course of the afternoon began to actually enjoy himself. When we arrived home however, my husband declared that it was fun but a tough way to earn a living. He has not modeled since. This was one of my sketches resulting from that afternoon.
A reluctant little nephew and his cousin.
Wow, how can this be from 55 years ago today! Seems like only yesterday.
👰
Created with Dream by Wombo
Prompts: Exquisite ethereal beauty, realistic facial features, intricate detailed clothing
Style: Unrealistic v2
gray toned texture used as input to control color and light
Thank you all your views, faves and comments!
This was one of a few Loon families that spent the season on the lake in North Frontenac that we visited in August. The lake is large, remote, and mostly uninhabited, and there is a lot of nesting habitat and, well, a lot of fish.
The Loons visited irregularly and as a consequence I always had my camera nearby and ready to go. For a bunch of reasons I was reluctant to approach them on the water, especially when they had young birds. That meant being really ready on the occasions - mostly evening - when they drifted along the shore toward an open bay they favoured for teaching the young Loon how to fish. Apparently adult Loons will find a dedicated, shallow and quiet area to practice with their young. Prior to training, which often happened in the dark, they would offer the young bird food.
That said, pretty soon now the adults will leave, and leave the (by now much bigger) first year bird alone. The young bird will migrate with other young birds, and unlike the parents, will not migrate back north next year. Instead it will wait at least a couple of years, and then return north as a breeding adult.
One light with umbrella. Background was a wall. Newbie with the light so any tips appreciated.
I lowered the highlights on the shirt which I may have had my light/umbrella at wrong angle.
♥ Head - Catwa Bento Lona
Skin - Insol Mia
Hair - Moon Lithium
Shirt - Ison @ Uber
Jeans - Villena
Shoes - Reign
Tattoo - Datum XO
Pose - Quixotica Casual Pose ♥
"Yes. I'm ready. I want the truth. I... wait. What does it taste like?"
"What?"
"The red pill. What does it taste like? Strawberries? Cherries? I'm allergic to cherries. Also please no tomatoes. I hate tomatoes."
"...wait, let me get this straight. Are you saying you'd decide the fate of reality, not least your reality, and of the whole universe based on the taste of this little pill here?"
"Well, a bit, yes? But, also, didn't you say you offer nothing but the truth? Does that not include how the blue pill would have tasted? I guess I'll never find that out if I go for the red one."
"That is correct. Some parts of the truth can bar you from learning another. You'll miss a lot more of the blue pill than just its taste. That's the difference between a decision and a choice, Neo."
"Yeah, see, that's why I'm making extra sure I don't decide something I'll regret afterwards. Seeing how reluctant you are to answer my question, it probably really does taste like tomatoes. Does your oracle prophecy thingy even state which pill that supposed One even would take?"
"No. It doesn't. The prophecy doesn't care whether you ride into battle by yourself, with your flag held high, or if it has to kick you down the street like an empty soda can. You'll always end up in the same place. Only, which one do you think is more convenient? Which one do you want to be remembered for?"
"Good point. But you still haven't answered my question."
"It's peanuts."
"Thanks. That didn't need to take that long, did it?"
"No, it didn't."
"Yes.. um.. wait.. that's not peanuts, that's... It's tasteless... completely tasteless."
"Exactly. I didn't mean the answer was peanuts. Only the question is."
the autumn market
think of the light:
vaporous from
a distance, flickers
of color, think of
the merchants:
koffie boy wheeling
his cart, old blind-in-
one eye on a bench,
looky see best quality,
temptress from faraway,
half-veiled, eyes
like burnt almonds,
twin sisters with toddlers
in tow roped to their
waists, budgies flitting
and shrilling in ornate cages,
aromas, bolts of cloth, swatches
of this&that, sizzling meats,
knockoff Rolexes, Gucci, Brunello,
jade, topaz, gleaming mother
of pearl for the tourists, someone
grabs your arm, someone flashes
eyes with you, others drift
past, thunder crackles
the sky, air a smoky incense
wafts about you and you think
of a religious procession
of which you are a part,
wandering slowly, aimlessly,
like life toward an uncertain
destination with nothing
to show but a few trinkets,
souvenirs you will soon forget
when the bus comes as you wait
silently in line for those strangers
and family talking softly ahead
who seem reluctant to leave.
--Miguel de O
It was too hot for the cats again today but Fynnie volunteered for a (short) photo shoot. Not with much enthusiasm, though ....
It seems that Fynn now has a eosinophilic gastroenteritis on top of his chronic cat flu. I spare you the details but there is no real cure, all you can do is suppress the inflammatory reaction. For the moment he receives cortisone (again). The enteritis is probably the reason why he constantly loses weight although he eats more than enough. We hope that the cortisone will allow him to gain some weight again.
The Sublime Realm of Pale di San Martino
Lo! Before my eyes, a citadel of rock and ice, where Earth’s firmament weds the heavens, rising in solemn majesty above the sleeping vales below. The Pale di San Martino, ancient and unshaken, stands in the dying glow of autumn’s tender light, as if kissed by the final breath of day. The setting sun, golden and reverent, drapes these towering spires in a robe of amber and fire, while the last wisps of wandering cloud, ghostly and ethereal, cling to the craggy bastions as if reluctant to part with the timeless embrace of these hallowed heights.
Here, the hand of time has sculpted grandeur unbowed by the centuries, where once, in ages long past, seas murmured their gentle lullabies over the slumbering depths of limestone now uplifted to the vaults of the sky. In the quiet cradle of these peaks, the spirits of ancient shepherds whisper on the wind, and the echoes of mountaineers—bold hearts who dared to defy the abyss—linger in the silent corridors of stone.
And lo, the forests below, a river of copper and gold, each tree a sentinel to the passage of time! How they bow before the grandeur of these Dolomites, their rustling voices weaving hymns of autumn’s fleeting beauty. In their midst, the shadows lengthen, a solemn dirge for the year that wanes, for the frost that soon shall claim the land, and for the transience of all things mortal.
Yet these peaks endure, steadfast, unyielding, like watchmen of eternity, their summits crowned in ice that neither weeps nor wanes. The Pale di San Martino—named by men, yet belonging only to the heavens—bears silent witness to the ebb and flow of empires, to the rise and fall of nations, and to the unrelenting march of time itself.
Oh, to stand here, in the breath of the mountain, is to know the weight of the infinite! To feel, in the marrow of one’s soul, the grandeur of Creation, and to be but a fleeting whisper upon the wind, lost among the towering halls of stone.
Bar TwentySeven, Amsterdam with model Irina.
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© NGimages / Nico Geerlings Photography
Hi everybody, its been a while!
After more than a year of inactivity, I am happy to finally share a new model with you: a Cherry-Blossom Bonsai!
Over the course of the last year, I have been building a few projects but non really came together. There was always a lack of time or I was dissatisfied with the progress so I did not finish most of them. This is one of the reasons I haven't shared any new builds last year.
But the release of the new Botanical Collection from LEGO® got me really excited about building again. It inspired me to, for once, not build anything that needs to match an original reference but instead build something that should just be beautiful. And when Brickset started the Build a Bonsai, I took it up as a challenge to build it within this month.
As this is a competition entry it is of course build solely from original LEGO® bricks. I did not even cut any flex-tube, which is rare for me. Even though Cherry-Blossom Trees are one of my favourite trees, I was reluctant to build one at first, as I had already built multiple in the past. Therefore I tried to make this one as different from my previous trees as possible, with a more distinct treetop.
I also want to take this opportunity to thank all of you who purchased my instructions, reached out to me or left heart-felt comments in the past year, even though I did not upload any new builds. It is incredibly encouraging to see that you enjoy the builds and are inspired by them! Thanks!
I hope you like the newest addition!