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VN10DLT, a Dennis Eagle refuse wagon in service with Telford & Wrekin Council on general refuse collection.
Still looking nice & new!
23 July 2010.
Brand: SSI Schaefer
Model: USD M
Size: 65 gallons
Hauler: Basin Disposal, Inc.
Location: Pasco, WA
Date: January 2018
See more at: www.thrash-n-trash.com/galleries/carts
©Bryn Erdman. All Rights Reserved.
JMT DAY 29 - VIEW OF MT. WHITNEY NEAR HITCHCOCK LAKES
View of Mt. Whitney near Hitchcock Lakes
After spending the night at Guitar Lake, most hikers go straight up climbing Mt. Whitney. Super early. But, that was not our plan. It has never been. Last time when I did the High Sierra Trail, another buddy of mine and I spent the night here, near Hitchcock Lakes, and started hiking at midnight. Henry and I had a very similar plan this time.
We arrived at one of the ponds about a half way between the main trail and Hitchcock Lakes. Not many backpackers find this place to spend a night.
This particular spot offers one of the best views of Mt. Whitney, along with Mt. Hale. The reflections are always pleasing while clouds hovering overhead. And we saw quite a bit of clouds rolling in, which created an absolutely spectacular sight in different shades of light.
My mind was completely drifted away, lost in the flow of the clouds.
Part of us was hoping that rain would never be materialized, but the winds kept blowing in our direction, and the prospect of cowboy camping, unlike last time, was dimming rapidly. Nonetheless, I was hopeful, and refused to pitch my tent.
last night boo slipped into the bed and refused to leave. at first chai wouldn't jump up. refused. his bed. and jones'. and mom's.
not boo's.
so I squished boo over a tad, after I convinced chai to get in bed. and they both feel asleep.
boo is closest. chai is the lump at the top under the dolls. you can't see jones under the covers.
the dolls in the parts jar decided they needed to watch over.
best viewed large.
this saga goes on forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I added two rescue groups at the top of the menu on my website. one of them is jon's
the other is the rescue that provided us with three loving hounds.
"state that one refuses to admit the truth or existence of."
We deny things. It's in our nature to do it. We deny things we are afraid of, we deny things we don't like.
Fear is an important emotion.
Makes us grow, makes us be who we really are if we are able to conquer it.
So don't deny things.
Face them.
Google refused to give this slice of an island adjacent to the Venetian island of Torcello a name so I am probably mistakenly thinking it is part of Torcello. The picture is shot from the bell tower of the Basilica di Santa Maria Assunta; which is built on Roman ruins... Torcello is considered by many as the birth place of Venice.
www.kentjohnsonphotography.com.au/Travel/VeniceViews.htm
www.kentjohnsonphotography.com.au/Travel/
Fujifilm X-T1
XF35mmF1.4 R
ƒ/13.0 35.0 mm 1/250 200iso
Stitched from 5 images.
At the moment, all those I love, both with and without fur, are safe and healthy and I am very thankful for that.
Shortly after Lucy died, I started seeing little commercials on my phone about this incredible calming dog bed. I just couldn't stop watching these blissfully happy dogs snarfling around in their big fluffy bed. However, since I didn't have a dog anymore, all I did was watch the commercials but didn't buy a bed. And then I got the commercial of kittens playing in the same bed - so I bought this fluffy bed. Jimmy likes it a lot. He doesn't ever look blissfully happy in it but at least he recognizes it as a bed. Ella and Mack refuse to acknowledge its existence. So, this simple picture is of Jimmy sleeping in the bed that makes me happy while I was watching a football game. It was one of those quiet, happy moments that reminds me of all I have to be thankful for.
New York City Transit Authority (NYCTA) R42 car 4830 is the lead motor on a refuse train seen climbing the grade into 20th Avenue Station on the West End Line. One of few daylight refuse train runs, this pickup runs from 38th Street Yard to Jamaica (179th St or Parsons/Archer Aves) via the West End, Culver, Crosstown, and Queens Boulevard Lines collecting trash from stations along the way.
Roller Auctions lot of 19x STARR trailers, 8x Condors, 1x ACX, 1x MR and 2x Loveland Wittke-Curottos. All were sold in 2012.
www.rollerauction.com/general-auctions/municipality-refus...
This photo may have been taken a million times, but I challenge any photographer to visit Glacier Point and refuse to snap a shot.
There are several good 'views' from Glacier Point which stands 3214 feet above the floor of The Valley on the south wall. Since The Valley remains heavily treed, you would never be aware of all the activity taking place on the valley floor at this moment. Easily identifiable here are Half Dome, Royal Arches, High Sierra country, and Tenaya Canyon.
The views from here and the nearby Washburn Point are impressive . . . but be sure, absolutely certain, to take the easy 2-mile roundtrip stroll to Taft Point which is located nearby (i.e., Glacier Point, Washburn Point, and Taft Point are all located on Glacier Road).
Yosemite National Park sits in the heart of the Sierra Nevada mountain range . . . And just as a truly great piece of music is not judged by one single note but how a variety of notes are put together with the many instruments, such is Yosemite. It doesn't have the highest mountains or the deepest rivers . . . but, wow, how they are all put together.
November clings to the lake’s surface, a brittle silence stretching between water and air. Étang de la Oussade lies like an unblinking eye in the cold grip of the French Pyrenees, a liquid stillness that refuses to surrender to ice. The midday light, thin and pale, filters through moving veils of cloud, catching briefly on the frosted edges of stone before dissolving into shadow. There’s a chill here that doesn’t pierce but settles — a quiet certainty, a whisper of winter held just at bay.
The mountains loom above, shrouded in transient veils of mist. Their flanks are streaked with frost and the bare-boned honesty of stone, half-concealed, half-revealed. The clouds glide through the summits, detached, like thoughts that refuse to be pinned down, reshaping themselves with each passing breath of wind. They dip and rise, unsure whether to embrace the heights or descend into the lake’s cold reflection.
Beneath this trembling mirror, the water seems to hold its own secrets. A school of trout darts along the shore, swift and deliberate, weaving patterns of motion beneath a surface that barely acknowledges them. Their sleek bodies fracture the clarity, creating ripples that fade almost as quickly as they form — fleeting disturbances in a place where time itself seems reluctant to move forward.
This is not a scene of waiting, nor of stillness. It is a conversation — water murmuring to cloud, stone whispering to cold air, fish tracing lines through invisible currents. There is no destination, no climax, only the unfolding of an ever-shifting equilibrium. The lake reflects not just the sky, but the tension of being on the cusp of change, where one element teeters on the edge of becoming another.
In this fragile hour, where the known balances precariously on the edge of the unknown, you sense that the lake is more than a body of water. It is a memory pool — one that holds the fleeting shapes of clouds, the sharp edge of frost, the urgency of fish, the infinite patience of mountains. And in its depths, it keeps something else: a question that cannot be answered, only felt.
-------------------------------------------
Beneath the lake’s trembling reflection and the sky’s quiet unraveling, there lies a doorway — one that leads to more moments where nature reveals its hidden dialogue and the world’s edges blur.
To explore further, where images breathe with the same wonder as words, step softly into the world crafted by the artist and writer at www.coronaviking.com. Each photograph, each phrase, offers an invitation to pause, to listen, and to see with eyes that wonder and a heart that remembers.
“[In] spite of extreme demographic density and the lack of machinery and work animals, the members of Precolumbian societies enjoyed physical health, individual independence, security, some leisure, which implies a distribution of resources and an integration to the collectivity that in our days would seem a utopia. From all of this follows that if we refuse to analyze the invasion that destroyed a civilized world and laid the seed of a system in which hunger, humiliation, and bloddy repression constitute the only form of survivorship, contemporary underdevelopment should be a result of congenital incapacity, of the irremediable racial inferiority that justified extermination and vassalage”
Laurette Sejourné
Quetzalcoatl Temple. Teotihuacan Archeological Zone. San Juan Teotihuacan, Estado de México, México.
These grape slices outright refused to be arranged in orderly rows. I'll have to try "knolling" again another time with a more cooperative subject.
(265841) Moreno Valley, CA
9/1/17
(265842) Chino, CA
12/30/17
I'm excited to announce, brand new Waste Management Curotto Can's are back in SoCal. Waste Management has officially bought 2 brand new Curotto Can's on 2 great looking McNeilus front loaders with dual side mounted CNG tanks.
Over Christmas break, WMmaster626 heard the Chino yard temporarily borrowed a McNeilus Curotto Can from the Moreno Valley yard who recently purchased 2 McNeilus Curotto Can's. I went to Chino and found Rodrigo who is a ASL driver, driving Curotto Can 265842. Chino is known for fast lid flipping ASL's and Rodrigo was incredibly fast in a Curotto Can. He was faster than any of the ASL drivers I saw that day and he does not even drive a Curotto Can regularly which makes you wonder how fast he would be in a Curotto Can if it was his normal truck.
At the end you will see Brenda driving another McNeilus Curotto Can 265841. I found the Route Manager, Brenda, leaving the Moreno Valley yard in the afternoon to help another driver and test out the new Curotto Can. When I filmed 265841, it was its second day on route and it looked amazing. A few weeks after I filmed 265841, it was hit by a car that ran a red light traveling at a high speed and it damaged a CNG tank and as of the first week of January 2018 it is still down but should be working soon.
In 1999 John Curotto and Waste Management did an extensive 3 1/2 month demo of The Curotto Can out of this same Moreno Valley Yard. The demo was successful and for many years after that, WM only bought Curotto Cans for residential in Moreno Valley so it is only fitting that Moreno Valley tries out Curotto Can's again. Moreno Valley is the same yard that has the Superlight Curotto Can Heil Freedom.
This is also the third generation WM McNeilus Autocar Curotto Can in SoCal. In the late 1990's, WM bought diesel Volvo WXLL McNeilus Century Front Loaders and would attach a Heil Autocan, STS Autobucket or original Curotto Can to it. In the mid 2000's WM bought LNG Autocar WXLL McNeilus Curotto Cans. And now WM purchased 2 side mounted CNG Autocar ACX McNeilus Curotto Can's. I like how the new McNeilus has dual side mounted CNG tanks on each side of the truck. It makes the McNeilus look more like its SoCal predecessors and the green CNG tanks look great.
Hopefully with the recent ASL problems, Waste Management is satisfied with the brand new Curotto Can's and purchases fleets of Curotto Can's like in the early 2000's.
Big thank you to the awesome drivers, Rodrigo and Brenda.
I hope everyone enjoys the video and thank you for watching!
This will be long but deserving.
They say there is always someone out there for you. Someone who touches your life and your soul like no one ever has. For me it's this gorgeous Princesa here. From the first moment I looked at her, I knew. I knew she was the one. I refused to acknowledge it at the time because we both were very destroyed by our pasts in that time, but fast forward some time later the way my body reacted was undeniable. My heart leapt in my chest in February. Tiny butterflies danced in my stomach at the same time I felt like I was free falling towards the ground. You know like when you go on a roller coaster and the first drop happens. But what really hit me was the way my breath pulled in my throat. It was instantaneous. I stopped breathing at the sight of her. And I never wanted to look away. It didn't take long for me to realize she was the one for me. Our time together has been a culmination of events that I couldn’t deny. I knew, if I didn’t love her before that moment, I fell over the edge into a bottomless ocean that was only for her. I knew I was never going back. So instead of speaking, I kissed her, hard. When my lips collided with hers, I wrapped my one arm around her waist, placing the other under her chin, pulling her closer. And her arms tightened around me an instant later. That was when I knew. With every cell in my body, every beat of my heart, I knew I found my home.
Regardless of where our paths take us, for me, her and I, that's how it was meant to be. She's not someone you just love the idea of, I love her for her and all that she is, and has yet to be. Whether it's this life or the next or the next after that. That's what my heart believes. We've been sparks and music, and she's brought me to life. Like a jumpstart beneath the stars. And suddenly, my heart beat once more. After so long of feeling like I was a burden in life, a lost cause, something that was broken beyond recognition, someone that could never heal or be the same ever again. She healed me, but at times also left me feeling terror. We were always in perfect harmony, and I lived in the moment like it could be our last. Because it could be but in my heart it was always her and I. That's how it was meant to be. We've been parts of a puzzle that fit perfectly together. Like the sun finally exploded into life and she became my shadow. Like she was the sun blazing in a cloudless sky. Then suddenly, my eyes needed to adjust, and I didn't mind because she put me back together, and I could only ever hope I was the missing piece in her life too. Because otherwise, I'm just a melody waiting for a broken chorus to turn me into a sad song.
There were many times my dreams have always been scattered. Stuck somewhere between what was, what is, and what could be. While I'm dreaming, I'm never really sure where I am until I'm awake again. Sometimes, the dreams can't stop soon enough. But others those special nights when I believe my dreams might actually be true. I find that I'm caught between two different worlds. The one that's real. And the one that exists beyond this existence. That's where I am when I'm with her. That's where I feel most alive. That's where I feel free because I'm with her. She makes life better. She turns the darkness I have around and chases it away. On days I thought I was going to crumble and the demons would lurk inside me, the memories would always haunt me, she made it better. It was worth it. It was worth it because this beautiful soul of a person made sure surviving hell was worth it because it brought me to her and I don't know where I would be if it weren't for her. For me the world begins and ends with her.
She caught my eye and I haven't turned my head since. It was like I opened my eyes for the first time and after a lifetime of dark, I could see light. It felt like coming home. Like I was already there. And I never wanted to leave. Even after all these years, I still catch myself in awe of her from the moment we became friends, to the first I love you's, and from the moment we fell in love. I don’t ever want what I feel to stop no matter where we both end up in life. I want us to always take a piece of each other wherever we end up. No matter what life it is I know I will forever be powerless to help myself and I will always want her. It was everything about her that caught me off guard. It was more than her beautiful smile, or the sound of her unguarded laugh. It was more than the brilliance of her eyes, or the way she saw me. It was more than the way she carried herself, or the gentleness in her touch. It was more than her mind and her creativity, ingenuity, and intelligence. It was everything. Before I realized it, she became my everything. And my heart was no longer mine because it was hers, and I couldn't stop myself from loving her. She became my forever home and she will always be that for me.
Today, tomorrow, and forever.
I had someone ask me once why would I want to be with her. I simply said something along the lines of, I cannot see it any other way, she is everything. When I think more clearly on it, the way I saw it really was, we might fall into each others orbits like a binary star or fully collide in a tragic and ineffable supernova of personalities; but I couldn't see us passing each other by-I have fully cross the event horizon of her gravity and I believe that she has been embraced by mine as well. Through the inexplicable refrain of our worlds mellifluous and meandering melodies, I have found in her the chorus to my verse and the bridge to my resolution. A song composed by fate using the notes that make up who we are-our shared curiosity tempts us to listen if we dare.
And I dare.
If anyone was to ask me what I loved most about her, it will take me a bit because physically, I love how fucking gorgeous she is, despite her own reservations about how she looks at times. I love her cute little nose, especially when she scrunches it up when she would smile at me. The things I would do to her nose... I love her naturally flawless skin; her plain face with no makeup is so beautiful. I love her beautiful eyes, despite her always using filters to hide their real beauty along with her face. Her eyes are so expressive, that I don't think she realizes how much she says with them. I could look into them all day and not get bored. I love her smile, always bringing light to my life and can bring joy even when at the lowest of lows. I love her tattoo's because they fit her so well and make her so much more attractive. I love the sound of her voice and her laugh, even though she hates both but it's so soothing to me. I love when she opens up and becomes comfortable with sharing her vulnerability with me. I love when she's brutally honest with everyone and sets anyone straight. I love how easily flustered she can get sometimes. I love when she turns into a brat and gets all pouty, all are the cutest. I love how hard she may seem to others but her heart is so very loving but only certain people get to see that. I love her sly looks she gives when certain things are said that annoy her. I love the way she tries to contain a laugh or smile on voice or on her stream but can't. I love when she tries to express feelings and has the cutest stutter and gets all giggly.
Honestly, there is so much I could go on about but personally, I love how warm, kind, and generous she is. I love how rare her heart is and that if you do right by her you may just get to see the sides not many get to see. She treats everyone equally until they give her a reason to see them differently. She's been through hell more times than most and I love how brave and strong she is to keep going after everything she's been through. She doesn't let single obstacles in her way to stop her from overcoming anything and forging her into the amazing woman she is. Not only that but the things she's faced that shaped her into being one of the best moms I ever had the chance to know. I know she is wracked with self doubt which adds to her cuteness to me but I only wish that one day she is able to see the amazing woman and mother that I have seen over the years. Behind all that her capacity to love is my most favorite but again not everyone gets to see certain sides of her which I love because that's what makes it real. That's what makes it and her, rare. Despite her always being the one to not be good at expressing these things when she does that is what makes her different from anyone I ever known and that's what makes me love her so much more.
I could go on and on for days, to months, to years about this little sunflower but I think I made it pretty clear. I'm writing all this in hopes one day no matter where she is at she can look back at this and remember despite her struggles, her moods she would always make being with her exciting and new every single day. To never doubt herself and think she is hard to love because I learned how to love her in any struggle, any mood. She could flip her mood on me to yell at me, swear at me, abuse me, degrade me, etc but I still would love her if that. I will love her unconditionally, forever and always. I'm not one to turn on someone I love or see them differently because of how they react to things. Everyone reacts differently to things and for reasons whether it be because of their present or past. I believe in talking through things to get to better solutions, not belittling anyone for their reactions. So I'd do anything to make things better when needed as long as who I am with is feeling secure and ok. That's what she will always deserve.
Relationships and sometimes even friendships are like tending to a garden. The more love and love attention you give it, the stronger and more likely the plant (relationship) will stay alive. But not all people are the same plants. Some people are desert plants that don't require much tending or watering. But some people are delicate little flowers who need more tending to. It's important to know what type of plant you and your significant other is, so you can cultivate your garden together. Relationships are only as successful as the amount of time and effort you put into them. So hopefully one day she'll get it all. Me always being attentive to her every need, yet giving space when needed. Leaving little gifts and notes places for her to find throughout the day to make her smile. Always making sure she is looked after before myself. Planning special things to make her feel special. Treating her how she should have been treated in all her previous relationships. To always take care of her and love her with all my being, never faltering, always standing by her, pushing her on, motivating her, being there when she is sad. No matter what I would be willing to do everything I could so that she didn't cry or be broken like all the other times. I'd sacrifice anything for her not caring what would happen to me as long as she was ok. These are all things I have done and would always do but I hope no matter what path she ever chooses that she is loved this way and only this way because she deserves nothing less.
With all that said, Lucipurr, you’re my heart and my soul in any life there is. You are everything I ever needed to know that being broken doesn’t mean that you have to stay that way. You see, you gave me hope. In those moments of desperation, you’ve been there to pick me up and dust me off. You taught me how to stand tall with my head held high and that I was deserving of everything good and to be loved. You were the only person to ever show me what that word really means and what it truly feels like to be loved the right way. You have no clue how much I adore you. No matter how much I tell you words will never capture my love for you and thanking you would barely cover what you’ve done for me through the years. I only hope I have been able to do the same at some point for you. I hope after all this you get it a bit more than the times I've tried to express things. I also hope one day you'll understand no matter where our paths take us that everything we have shared was real.
A little background to set the stage...
When Michele and I moved back from Vermont in 2002 the economy sucked. It was three months after 9/11 and there were no jobs. I looked and looked, and found nothing in the fields that appealed to me. On a whim I answered a notice from one of the local job sites - something about computers, children and West Point. Well, WP is only a mile from my house so I thought what the hell.
Well I got the job.
What it entailed basically, was I worked for the DoD on the installation of West Point in the Department of Community and Family Activities, within the confounds of building 500 under direction from the higher ups in building 681. The plain and simple of it - we were operating an after-school program for army brats - and I was the "tech guy." They all called me "Mr. Mike" and when another Mr. Mike started in the program next door I was "Mr. Mike 1.0" - they other dude was 2.0 cause frankly, I was smarter. I digress.
I was in this position for two years. We did Digital Photo Projects, made movies, played computer games, followed senseless calendars and played more computer games. I was a big kid myself so teaching things to kids who had just spent all day in school seemed pointless - they were kids, worse yet, they were Army kids - their life was confusing and stressful as it was - no need to make it worse. Well, this was a fact that my bosses refused to grasp. Well, they were too worried about themselves to care anyway.
So, in comes Ray. Ray was an outsider, trying like hell to be an insider. He and his sister were adopted by an Army family on post - his step-father played an instrument in the West Point band. It was a sweet gig and it enabled Ray to have a stable life on post - when a lot of other kids were being continually uprooted due to deployment and reassignments. Ray had been a local fixture for most of his life, and all of the adults on post knew him - for better or worse.
Ray's family lived just across the road from the Youth Center so he was always there until late in the evening - messing around with new programs, playing games, sitting on the other side of my desk asking "Mr. Mike - why won't they let us play America's Army?" "Cause it's violent Ray." "But Mr. Mike, it was made right down the road - and isn't the Army violent..." To which I would usually point towards the door and he would go grab a soda and come back in 5.
What Ray was most (in)famous for was his music ability. He would mix techno tracks on the computer that were really top-notch incredible. But the thing that made him really special was his guitar playing. For a time we had another guy working with us named Adam. He was a very good guitar player/vocalist and a veteran of Bosnia. Anyway, he encouraged Ray to bring his guitar in and play with him. Over the months Ray got better and better, and louder and louder. Eventually, Adam left for greener pastures but Ray kept on chugging along playing Stairway to Heaven 24/7 on his small amp.
Pretty soon everyone in the building began to take notice of Ray and his guitar. Sadly, a few of those that noticed were the Director and his Assistant who began to complain about the decibel level of his music and how it interfered with their internet surfing - I mean "work." Who knew watching your Yahoo Stock Portfolio could be a full time job and include the title Director. I digress.
And so one day Ray and I had it out.
"you have to turn it down Ray - it's too loud"
"your too old"
"wha what...screw that, turn it down."
"I thought this was a place for kids to have fun..."
*me dumbfounded*
"well learn some new songs...go down the hallway, learn some new ones and practice"
"I don't know any other songs?"
"There are like a million songs - you can't think of one you would like to play?"
"nope"
So this is when I made everyone's life in that building infinitely more irritating. As a joke I pulled up AC/DC on the computer. I played him "Hell's Bells" and instantly he stared playing along with the rhythm. Same with "Back and Black." This kid is amazing I thought. Then I brought up "Thunderstruck" and his eyes lit up - "omg that's not possible he said."
Well for the next weeks and months he must have went home and practiced that guitar intro over and over and over - because everyday he made it a little cleaner, a little farther - until he played it all the way through.
And, I can still remember the day that he did it, sitting in the study area behind my desk, focused on the stem of the guitar...later when everyone was hanging out in the public area he went down the hall to his practice space, plugged into his amp and rocked out - only to be kicked out for once again breaking the rules.
Some people just don't get it.
Flash ahead to Wednesday night, I am walking down an aisle of classic cars at the Bear Mountain Cruise Night and I see a big african-american kid in a Detroit Red Wings jersey coming towards me.
No way it can't be him.
It was. Big Ray. No longer a punk teenager anymore, but now a man. Staying out of trouble and trying to do the right thing - a lot more then some of the others can say.
It was good to see an old friend.
This one goes out to Big Ray, please play it LOUD.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1Mkt81avak
Professor Lyra Everbane was born on a crisp February morning in 1999, in the enchanting wizarding village of Mould-on-the-Wold. The Everbane family, though not wealthy, was well-respected for their scholarly pursuits, particularly in magical folklore. Her mother, Moira, was a noted magical historian, while her father, Declan, was a wandmaker who specialized in rare woods. From an early age, Lyra was captivated by the legends her mother would recount by the hearth, tales of ancient heroes, magical beasts, and forgotten civilizations.
When she arrived at Hogwarts in 2010, Lyra was sorted into Hufflepuff, a choice that delighted her family. She embodied the house’s values of dedication, patience, and loyalty, often becoming the peacemaker among her classmates. Her warmth and kindness made her a favorite among her peers, while her determined work ethic ensured her success in her studies.
Lyra excelled particularly in History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, and Herbology. She was captivated by how myths connected to magical creatures and the natural world. She spent much of her time in the Hogwarts greenhouses or on the grounds, seeking inspiration from nature and befriending the resident creatures. Her fascination with magical folklore deepened under the mentorship of Professor Sprout and later Professor Firenze, who encouraged her to view mythology as more than mere stories—tools of wisdom and prophecy.
After graduating in 2017, Lyra embarked on a journey across the wizarding world. She spent time with Veela in Eastern Europe, learned from centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, and even gained the trust of the reclusive Merfolk communities in Greece. These experiences expanded her understanding of myth as a bridge between cultures and magical practices.
Her travels earned her respect in academic circles, but Lyra always remained grounded, refusing to let accolades overshadow her desire to teach. She returned to Hogwarts in 2029 to become the Professor of Mythological Studies, determined to pass on her knowledge to future generations.
As a professor, Lyra's Hufflepuff traits shone through. Her classroom became a haven for all students, a place where they felt valued and encouraged. She filled her lessons with interactive experiences, bringing myths to life with illusions, enchanted relics, and the occasional magical creature. Her ability to make every student feel seen and supported made her a beloved member of the Hogwarts staff.
While her sunny demeanor endeared her to many, Lyra carried an air of quiet mystery. Rumors swirled among students about the source of her knowledge of Thestrals, and some speculated that her compassion stemmed from personal loss. Despite this, she remained a constant source of hope and wisdom, always reminding her students that even the darkest myths often held lessons of resilience and light.
Today, Professor Everbane continues to inspire young witches and wizards, weaving together the wisdom of the past and the promise of the future in her teachings. Her loyalty to her students, her love of magical lore, and her steadfast determination ensure that her legacy will endure at Hogwarts for years to come.
Title.
Early morning. Red light. Brake lights.
B♭ (B Flat)
A Novel by Mitsushiro Nakagawa
日本語のあらすじ等は下の方にあります😃
“Synopsis”
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Korea’s cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not money—but to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinations—mirroring one another—ignite a nation’s deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidate’s life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New York—embedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) live—symbols of “the order America built.”
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: “We will never bow to terror.”
Among the crowd, Rafi’s operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasser—once Rafi’s comrade, haunted by the memory of his sister’s death in Gaza—tries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafi’s conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the city’s fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
“Characters”
Anaya Patel – 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh – 26, Anaya’s boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato – 25, Anaya’s friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford – 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake – 26, Justin’s fiancée
President Grant M. Langford – 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles “Chuck” Baines – 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett – 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett – 30, Ryan’s wife
Owen Reed – 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance – 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway – 30, Jack’s colleague
Darryl Ross – 29, Jack’s colleague
Elijah Kane – 28, Jack’s colleague
Marcus Dane – 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett – 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell – 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcus’s subordinate
Veronica Reeves – 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris – 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen – 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe – 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad – 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser – 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam – 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah – 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza – 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad – 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari – 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser – 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi – 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
B♭ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan — the man who challenges Netflix. 😃
(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)
Manhattan, New York, U.S.A. 2017 … 3 / 16
(Today’s photo. It has not been published before, but I’ve recently re-edited it from the original.)
Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
English lyrics and Japanese translation
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 19😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Twilight sank over the harbor town, dimming the air as the rusted girders along the pier turned a burnished red.
The park in Red Hook was nearly empty; the chains of the swings stirred in the wind, clinking faintly.
Children’s laughter drifted from afar, only deepening the stillness that hung over the place.
Amir stood outside the wire fence, gazing at the scene, and something half-forgotten stirred within him.
There had been evenings, too, in the rubble of Gaza.
Out from the ruins of broken houses, his mother would appear—
breathless, dust clinging to her clothes, coming to find him, to hold him close.
He could still recall the scent of her hair, the warmth of her arms.
“Let’s go home,” she had said.
Even if “home” was nothing more than a collapsing shell of stone and dust, her voice alone had led him back.
A mattress laid atop debris.
A room with no walls, only wind.
Yet each time his mother’s hand brushed his forehead, that place became, undeniably, home.
Amir’s gaze returned to the New York children swaying on the swings.
The innocent rhythm between mothers and sons was repeating itself again, bathed in the soft light of dusk.
It was a world untouched by weapons or blood.
“Rafi,” he murmured, barely louder than the wind,
“maybe… we don’t have to go on.”
Rafi didn’t look away.
His eyes were clouded with the sediment of Gaza—blood and dust, the memory of ruin.
His father’s body fallen in shadow.
Walls blackened with fire.
Dreams torn apart.
What filled him was not tenderness, but a cold and merciless anger.
“Don’t forget, Amir,” he said, his voice hard as stone.
“In the same place where your mother held you, our fathers were slaughtered.
Those ruins are not just ruins.”
Amir fell silent.
The river’s surface rippled red in the twilight; across the East River, the towers of Manhattan shimmered faintly, blurred at the edges.
Peace and destruction, memory and hatred—
they mingled together in the same wind.
Behind the wire fence, children’s laughter still rang out.
But to the two men, it sounded only like an echo from another world.
The setting sun sank quietly, staining the bridge’s iron joints red as the heat beneath it trembled in the air.
Rainwater pooled in the cracks of the concrete, reflecting a thin sheet of gold.
A faint steam rose from the damp air, and the salt from the harbor clung to Amir’s nose.
The boarded door of an abandoned factory hung loose,
the wind pushing in old newspapers and leaves, swirling them into tiny spirals.
From afar came the cry of cicadas, and a city bus exhaled a sigh through its brakes.
Beneath the bridge stood Amir, Rafi, and several others scattered in silence.
Some wiped sweat from their brows, eyes lowered to the ground;
others rested hands upon the girders, gazing out toward the distant light.
At intervals, the shadow of a parent waiting for a child passed by,
a white-roofed van gliding through the heat.
Amir rubbed his back, the sweat clinging to his shirt, and sat down in the shadow of the bridge pier.
Rafi stood a short distance away.
Their shadows stretched long, wavering under the harsh westering sun.
No one among their comrades moved; their stillness was a kind of breathless waiting.
“Can’t we stop here?” Amir’s voice wavered into the humid air.
In his mind, he saw again his mother’s hand reaching through a crack in the stone wall—
that small, dirt-stained hand that once touched his cheek.
The desire to return to that warmth still flickered faintly in his chest, like an ember refusing to die.
Rafi clenched his jaw, and spoke through his teeth, his words as brief and cold as a stone cast into the sea.
“Don’t forget, Amir.
If you forget that night, we’ll betray the dead.”
His voice merged with the creak of metal underfoot, irreconcilable with the laughter of children or the cry of cicadas drifting in the distance.
Amir narrowed his eyes, watching the flow of light beyond the railing.
Across the river, windows shimmered in layers—
places where life went on, where dinners were being served,
where children’s laughter and footsteps would echo softly through the gardens.
A deep shadow cut across Rafi’s face.
His fists were clenched, the veins on his hands taut and bright.
“That wish of yours,” he said quietly,
“do you know it might become someone’s gravestone?”
Amir’s gaze fell to a small white rabbit doll at his feet.
It was caked with dust, one eye missing.
Perhaps it belonged to a child who once played beneath this bridge—
or perhaps it had simply wandered here by chance.
Either way, to Amir, that single missing eye seemed like a fleeting glimpse of a world quietly disappearing.
Silence spread between them.
The wind hummed low through the iron beams.
Around them, the world went on moving.
A van door shut.
A parent touched a child’s shoulder.
A bus turned the corner.
Their comrades drew shallow breaths, eyes fixed on the ground or the far horizon.
Without looking back, Amir began walking toward the city beyond the bridge’s shadow.
Behind him came a single breath from Rafi—
a sound that carried the stillness of a corpse.
The summer dusk slowly swallowed the bridge.
The men beneath it remained as faint silhouettes,
poised between the red of sunset and the cold gleam of steel.
Rafi quietly unzipped his bag and drew out a tablet.
His fingers trembled slightly,
but he took a slow breath to steady himself,
and aimed the camera at the mark of “B♭” at the bottom of mellow-echo.net.
A dark screen flickered to life, revealing a deep-layer QR code.
Without hesitation, his finger slid along the words:
“C4-ID: Vanta+Core / Ready.”
That movement sent a faint tremor through the tension of the men beneath the bridge,
blending with the dry scent of rust and the damp summer air.
From the far side of the East River, under another bridge,
sparks began to rise—one, then another—
tiny flashes glowing red in the dark.
The light quivered across the shadows,
and the sound of metal striking metal echoed low.
Rafi’s eyes followed the fading silhouette of Amir’s back.
The others stepped silently away,
drawing a little farther from the bridge.
Moist air clung to Rafi’s skin,
and the mingled red of dusk and chill of steel filled the space around him.
In the hush beneath the bridge,
each flash and creak formed a strange rhythm in his chest.
A cicada cried once in the distance.
The city’s murmur faded to a far-off haze.
Pressed beneath that wave of tension,
the men held their breath,
confirming each other’s presence only through glances and the rhythm of their breathing.
The summer dusk slowly—yet surely—
swallowed the bridge, the city,
and the shadows that remained.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
早朝。赤信号。ブレーキランプ。
僕の新しい小説
B♭ （ビーフラット） ……. Mitsushiro Nakagawa
“あらすじ”
北朝鮮の仮想通貨システムをハッキングし、数億ドルを奪取したガザ出身のパレスチナ人グループが、アメリカ合衆国へ密かに潜入する。
彼らの目的は、失われた祖国ガザを、アメリカの地に「復元」することだった。
共和党による強硬な移民政策と、国内にくすぶる排外感情を利用し、アメリカ社会を内側から崩壊させる計画が静かに進行していく。
共和党大統領候補ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードがマディソン・スクエア・ガーデンで演説中に狙撃され、ほぼ同時刻、ロサンゼルスでは前大統領オーウェン・リードもまた、民主党候補ライアン・ベネットの集会で撃たれる。
国家を二分する双方向の暗殺。だが、ジャスティンは奇跡的に生還する。
彼の血液型は、世界でわずか250万人に一人といわれる「ボンベイブラッド」。
その希少な血を提供できたのは、ブルックリンで活動するコミュニティアート・ファシリテーター、アナヤ・パテルだった。
彼女の血液はベルビュー病院の血液バンクに保存されており、緊急輸血によって、候補者の命はかろうじて繋がれた。
シークレットサービスのジャック・バンスは、テロの背後にガザ出身の組織が関与していることを察知し、FBIロサンゼルス支局長官キャメロン・バートレット、ニューヨーク支局の特別捜査官ヴェロニカ・リーブスと共に捜査を進める。
やがて彼らは、イスラム大学で建築学を学んだラフィ・ガンナムが、ロサンゼルスやニューヨークの再開発現場に潜入し、梁や構造体の中枢にC4爆薬を仕込んでいた事実に辿り着く。
標的は、ICE（移民・関税執行局）やERO（執行・送還作戦部門）の職員が暮らす新興住宅街——すなわち、「アメリカが築いた秩序」そのものだった。
ヴェロニカは、これ以上の破壊を防ぐため、大統領への対話を進言するが、現職のグラント・ランフォード大統領は耳を貸さない。
一方、命を取り留めたジャスティンと民主党候補ライアンは、テレビを通じて国民に訴えかけ、分断を乗り越えようとする。
だが、その理性の声を嘲笑うかのように、グラントはアイオワ州での演説を強行し、「テロには屈しない」と宣言する。
その会場には、すでにラフィの仲間が率いる工作チームが潜入していた。
崩壊する会場の惨状を前に、仲間の一人アミール・ナッセルは、かつてガザで妹を失った記憶に引き裂かれ、破壊の連鎖を止めようとする。
だが、ラフィの信念は揺るがない。
ウィリアムズバーグ橋の下、夕暮れの喧騒のなか、二人は決別する。
それは、祈りと報復、希望と虚無の境界線だった——。
“登場人物”
アナヤ・パテル ２５歳 コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
アルジュン・シン ２６歳 アナヤの恋人・ルミナテック・イノベーションズ社
佐藤 ミカ ２５歳 アナの友人・コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
ジャスティン・ブラッドフォード ２７歳 共和党大統領候補
エリノア・ブレイク ２６歳 ジャスティンの婚約者
グラント・M・ランフォード大統領 ６１歳 共和党大統領現職
チャールズ・ベインズ副大統領 ６４歳 共和党副大統領現職
ライアン・ベネット ３０歳 民主党大統領候補
ソフィア・ベネット ３０歳 ライアンの妻
オーウェン・リード ６５歳 民主党前大統領
ジャック・バンス ４５歳 シークレットサービス 元FBIロサンゼルス支局
ベン・ホロウェイ ３０歳 ジャックの同僚
ダリル・ロス ２９歳 ジャックの同僚
イライジャ・ケイン ２８歳 ジャックの同僚
マーカス・デイン ４５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局
キャメロン・バートレット ５５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局 支局長
トム・コールドウェル ３８歳 FBI技術班 マーカスの部下
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス ４１歳 FBI特別捜査官
アレクサンダー・ハリス ５２歳 FBI ニューヨーク支局 支局長
エリオット・チェン ３６歳 テクノロジー班主任
アリシア・モンロー ５８歳 FBI長官
ザカリア・ハッダード ５１歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 工学部教授 ニューヨークチーム
アミール・ナッセル ２３歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 電子工学部 ニューヨークチーム
ラフィ・ガンナム ３２歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
ロハン・シャー ２９歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
マジード・ハムザ ４７歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 情報技術学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サミラ・ハンマド ２８歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 工学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サイード・カバリ ３５歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 経営学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
リーム・ナセル ３０歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 メディア学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
ノア・レヴィ 55歳 イスラエル テルアビブ在住 ユダヤ人
僕のこの小説は、来年、２０２６年２月末日に公開します。
先日、リドリースコット監督がサブスクの映画やドラマ群がつまらないと話していたようだけど、同感です。
僕も非常に退屈です。
それらに2時間を要するなら、僕の小説を２分間だけ読んで欲しい。
その2分間は、２時間を越えるでしょう。
僕は自信があります。
ぜひ、期待してお待ちください。
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
09th. Oct . 2025.
追伸
ネトフリに挑戦する男、みっちゃん。😃
( Nikon coolpix 8700 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 3 / 16
(今日の写真。それは未発表済みです。しかし最近、オリジナルから再編集しています。）
Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
英詞と和訳
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第19弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
夕暮れは港町の空気を沈ませながら、埠頭に錆びついた鉄骨を赤銅色に染めていた。
レッドフックの公園は人影もまばらで、遊具の鎖が風に揺れ、かすかな音を立てていた。子どもたちの笑い声が遠くにひびき、かえって静けさを際立たせているようだった。
アミールは金網の外からその光景を見つめ、胸の奥に忘れかけていた感覚を呼び戻していた。
かつてガザの瓦礫の町にも夕暮れはあった。
破壊された家々のあいだから、母の姿が現れた。息を切らし、砂埃をまといながらも、彼を探して抱きしめに来る母の匂いを、アミールは今も覚えていた。
「家に帰ろう」と母は言った。
家とは呼べないほど崩れかけた場所であっても、その声だけが彼を導いた。瓦礫の上に置かれた布団、壁もない部屋に流れ込む風、それでも母の手が彼の額を撫でるたび、そこは確かに家だった。
アミールの視線は、ブランコに揺れるニューヨークの子どもたちへと戻った。母と子の無邪気な時間が、夕暮れの柔らかな光のなかで繰り返されている。
その光景は、武器や血とは無縁の世界だった。
「ラフィ……俺たちは、もうやめてもいいんじゃないか」
低く呟いた声は、風に溶けるほど弱かった。
ラフィは目を逸らさなかった。その瞳には、ガザの砂塵に埋もれた血の記憶がよどんでいた。
倒れ伏した父の影、焼け焦げた壁、裂けた夢。彼の胸に満ちているのは、優しさではなく、冷たい怒りだった。
「忘れるな、アミール」
声は硬い石のように響いた。
「母の腕に抱かれた記憶と同じ場所で、父たちは殺されたんだ。あの瓦礫はただの瓦礫じゃない」
アミールは唇を閉ざした。
夕暮れの川面が赤く揺らぎ、イーストリバー越しのマンハッタンの高層ビルの影がかすかに滲んでいた。
平和と破壊、記憶と憎しみが、同じ風の中で混じり合っていた。
金網の内では、子どもの笑い声がまだ響いていた。
しかし、ふたりの耳にはそれが遠い世界の残響にしか思えなかった。
///////////////////////////////////
夕陽は鉄の骨の継ぎ目を赤く染めながら、橋の下の熱気に揺れつつ静かに沈み込んだ。
コンクリートの裂け目に溜まった水が、夕陽を映して薄い金色に光っている。湿った空気にわずかな湯気が立ち、港から流れる潮の匂いがアミールの鼻腔に絡んだ。
廃工場の戸板は半ば外れ、風が古い新聞紙や枯れ葉を押し込み、小さな渦をつくっていた。蝉の声が遠くから響き、路線バスのブレーキ音が一度、吐息のように洩れた。
橋の下には、アミールとラフィのほかに、数名の仲間たちが散らばって立っている。肩をすくめ、汗を拭いながら地面に視線を落とす者もいれば、鉄梁に手をかけ、遠くの光景をじっと見つめる者もいた。
時折、子どもを待つ親の影と、白い屋根の送迎車が通り過ぎる。
アミールは汗で張り付いたシャツの背中をさすり、橋げたの影に腰を下ろした。
ラフィは少し離れて立った。影は長く伸び、照りつける西日に揺れていた。仲間たちは微動だにせず、息を殺すようにその場にいる。
「ここでやめられないのか」
アミールの声は、蒸し暑い夕暮れの空気に溶けかけた。脳裏には、母が崩れた石壁の隙間から差し出した小さな手が浮かんでいた。母の手はいつも、汚れた掌で彼の頬を撫でてくれた。そこに帰りたいという欲が、胸の奥でまだ微かに温かく息をしている。
ラフィは奥歯を噛みしめ、舌先だけで言った。簡潔で、海に投げる石のように冷たい。
「忘れるな、アミール。あの夜のことを忘れたら、俺たちは死んだ者たちを裏切る」
その声は、波打つ鉄板の軋みと混じり、遠くの子どもたちの笑い声や蝉の声とは相容れなかった。
アミールは目を細め、橋の欄干越しに流れてゆく光を見た。向こう岸に、きらめく窓が幾重にも並んでいる。そこには暮らしがあり、夕飯の匂いが立ち、子どもたちの笑い声や庭先で遊ぶ足音が、柔らかく響いているはずだ。
ラフィの頬に深い影が刺さり、拳を握りしめている。手の甲の血管が鋭く浮いた。
「お前のその願いが、誰かの墓標になることを、お前は知っているのか」
アミールの視線は、足元に落ちた小さな白いうさぎのぬいぐるみに止まった。埃にまみれ、ひとつの目が欠けていた。
そのぬいぐるみは、橋の下で遊んだ遠い誰かのものかもしれない。あるいは単に迷い込んだだけかもしれない。どちらにせよ、アミールにはその欠けた目が、消えていく日常の一瞥に思えた。
沈黙がふたりを隔てた。風が、橋げたの鉄梁を低く鳴らした。
周囲の世界は動き続ける。送迎車の戸が閉まり、親が子の肩を叩く。バスが一台、角を曲がる。仲間たちは微かに息を整え、視線を地面や遠方に巡らせたままだ。
アミールは振り返らず、橋の影から街のほうへ歩き出した。
後ろでラフィの吐息が一つだけ聞こえた。それは骸のような静けさを残し、夏の夕闇が緩やかに橋を飲み込んでゆく。橋下の仲間たちは、かすかな影のまま残り、夕陽の赤と鉄の冷たさの間に佇んでいた。
ラフィは静かにバッグを開き、タブレットを取り出した。指先に、微かに震えはあったが、心を鎮めるように深く息を吸い、mellow-echo.netの最下部にあるB“♭（フラット）”に、ミュートリーダーのカメラをかざした。暗い画面にディープレイヤーQRコードが浮かび上がると、指先はためらうことなく、“C4-ID:Vanta+Core/Ready.”の文字に沿って滑った。その手の動きは、橋下に残った仲間たちの緊張を微かに揺らし、乾いた鉄の匂いと湿った夏の風に溶けた。
イーストリバーを挟んだ対岸の橋下から、火花が一点、また一点と立ち上り、暗がりに赤く瞬いた。小さな光は、橋下の影を揺らし、鉄梁にぶつかる音が低く響く。ラフィの視線はアミールの背に残る影を追い、仲間たちは無言で後退りし、橋下から少しずつ距離を取った。
湿気を帯びた空気がラフィの肌をまとい、夕陽の赤と鉄の冷たさが入り混じる。橋下の静寂の中、火花の閃光と小さな軋みが、ラフィの胸の奥に奇妙な律動を生んだ。遠くで蝉が一声鳴き、街のざわめきは遙か彼方に霞んでゆく。
その緊張の波に押されるように、橋下の仲間たちは息をひそめ、視線と呼吸だけで互いの存在を確かめあった。
夏の夕闇は、まるで橋を、街を、そして残された影を静かに、しかし確かに飲み込んでいった。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54811315069/in/dateposted...
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
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「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
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Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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37402 BR 37419 M Pass through BURTON ON TRENT with the 5Z88 14.31 CREWE DOWN REFUSE SIDINGS - BURTON WETMORE SIDINGS ECS. Sunday 16th June 2019
20150403
CanonA-1
NFD50mmF1.4
FUJICOLOR SUPER 400 Distributed by The Daiei, Inc. expired 2003
33850028
Though today was supposed to be all about the new Giselle, I couldn't help but steal her outfit and try it on Eden. So enjoying this girl!
Doll: Public Adoration Eden
Outfit: from Optic Illusion Giselle
NOT ALL VIOLETS are BLUE…
Roses are red
Violets are????
I refuse to be blue!
The viola is a large family containing 500 species,they are on record in Greece from the 4th century B.C.
Later in Europe, it was discovered that a plant similar to a viola grew in open areas. The plant found mostly in fields and amongst rocks in the Alps, hence Alpine.
It became known as a wild pansy (French:pensÈe). It might have been a romantic Frenchman who 'named' it... A pensÈe can be a thought or a saying, short or it can be as long as a paragraph, a page, a poem!
Maybe he thought of his loved-one, dried one amongst some book he carried? Juste une pensÈe... lol.
These delicately fragrant flowers come in a wonderful variety of colours. The dark centres in some flowers are thought to resemble little faces.
These are a smaller variety (a flower not much bigger than my thumbnail!), that I have in the garden, I could not resist photographing them in the studio...
As always, thanx for your lovely comments and thoughts, M, (*_*)
For more of my other work or if you want to PURCHASE, visit here: www.indigo2photography.co.uk
IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY images or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. If you do, without accreditation, it is STEALING © All rights reserved
A fun series of captures of the little one we were watching who was refusing to take nap despite being very sleepy. She fought it best she could even while there on our steps.
Currently 1 of 2 Heil Freedom commercial front loaders running in Kennewick
Chassis: Autocar Xpeditor ACX
Body: Heil Half/Pack Freedom
Hauler: Waste Management
Location: Kennewick, WA
Date: June 2018
See More Trashy Photos & Videos At: www.thrash-n-trash.com/
©Bryn Erdman. All Rights Reserved.