View allAll Photos Tagged Rustle
The poor duckling then decided to run away.
He crossed fields and meadows, swam on the water for a long time, but because of his ugliness he was neglected from all animals. One evening a flock of large, beautiful birds emerged from the bushes; never had the duckling seen such beautiful birds. They were swans, dazzlingly white, with long, lithe necks and large white wings. I want to go to those royal birds! – And he flew into the water heading towards them. But what did he ever see in the clear water? He saw the image of him beneath him, and it was no longer the ugly bird he once was, grey and awkward, he too was a magnificent swan with white wings and as he rustled his feathers of his beautiful wings and held his slender neck high, he cried out with a full heart: "I never dreamed there could be so much happiness, when I was the ugly duckling."
(Hans Cristian Andersen – The Ugly Duckling)
Mitt lilla torp är min favoritplats. Här är det lugnt och stilla och man kan njuta av skogens sus och fåglarnas sång vid den här tiden på året. Det ligger vid vägs ände och byggdes runt 1830 och hette då Hästfallet. Hästfallet betyder att det är en åker där tidigare fanns skog (fälld/fallen skog) Och sannolikt var här en hästhage på den tiden. När det såldes 1834 till Erik Larsson och hans hustru Britta Andersdotter bytte det namn till Erikslund och så heter det än idag.
🌻🌻🌻
My little cottage is my favorite place. Here it is calm and quiet and you can enjoy the rustle of the forest and the song of the birds at this time of year. It is located at the end of the road and was built around 1830 and was then called Hästfallet (The Horse Fall). The horse fall means that it is a field where there used to be forest (felled/fallen forest) And there was probably a horse paddock here at the time. When it was sold in 1834 to Erik Larsson and his wife Britta Andersdotter, it changed its name to Erikslund and it is still called that today.
Chartreuse, Alpes, France
(Pyrrhocorax graculus)
On this very busy summit, Alpine choughs come to you as soon as they hear (from far away) a rustle of paper: they associate it with the presence of food and probably a few crumbs if they come to beg! If you don't give them anything, they quickly fly away (after a pose for the photo).
Sur ce sommet très fréquenté, les chocards viennent vers vous dès qu'ils entendent (de très loin) un froissement de papier : ils l'associent à la présence de nourriture avec probablement quelques miettes s'ils viennent quémander! Si vous ne donnez rien ils s'envolent rapidement (après une pose pour la photo).
While cleaning my lens in my car, I heard a rustle and saw this
Thank you for viewing, faving or commenting on my images, have a great day! (Affinity Pro for editing)
This is just down the valley on return from feeding the neighbours chooks, this little pud comes with me, hangs out and then heads back with me too, but never all the way home. There are too many distractions along the way, trees to climb, rustles to investigate etc.
She immersed herself in the enchanting symphony of nature, allowing it to awaken her senses and transport her to a state of pure bliss. The gentle rustle of leaves in the wind whispered secrets known only to the earth, while the melodious songs of birds painted vibrant colors in the expansive canvas of her imagination.
#AbFav_MINIMALSISM✅
Kyoto, in the garden of The Kyoto Imperial Palace, I sit and enjoy all the beauty.
The sun still warm, there is silence here, you cannot hear the wind yet now and then, the rustle of an air surfing leaf off the beautiful and majestic trees.
A lone Acer leaf lands on my bench… with raindrop-tears, my feelings in an image.
Have a super day, I know I will, and thanks for your comments, M, (*_*)
For more: www.indigo2photography.com
IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY image or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
Acer, leaf, red, raindrops, bench, Kyoto, Imperial Palace garden, Japan, minimalism, garden, colour, landscape, horizontal, "”Nikon D7200”, "Magda indigo"
The autumn leaves of the plane trees rustle under my feet as I leave the entrance gate to Liebensfels cemetery behind me. Autumn is here - almost.
I notice the many wall lizards scurrying over the slab graves and enjoying the last warm rays of sunshine. As I find out later, they are just one of many animal species that live in the cemetery.
I find Andreas Gerber haymaking one of the meadows at the cemetery. Together with two other employees, he is responsible for green space management, building and path maintenance at the cemetery, as well as the crematorium. His enthusiasm for Liebensfels cemetery is noticeable from the very beginning; Andreas appreciates both the interaction with visitors and the nature that can be found on the cemetery grounds.
The breeze rustled in the trees as she settled down on the rug with a sigh. It was a stressful time of the year....but sometimes you have to get away and.....just relax.....
♫ Until Dawn - What Could Possibly go Wrong ♫
"Oh shit!"
Looking over at Tupper, seeing the pain in her face Phil grimaced with her as he held the young woman up, "Damn, sorry Tup."
"No, no, it's my fault. If I weren't such a klutz. I've ruined this whole weekend."
"Nah, stop thinking like that" Tim said as he squeezed her hand, comforting her, holding her up on her right side.
"I think these totems mean something." Said Sophia from behind the three as she looked the figure up and down, her flashlight cutting through the dark, cool air.
"You think genius?!" quipped Ash as she looked over another of the strange and ominous looking effigies.
"Oh shut the fuck up bitch, who are you anyway?! Your dumb ass barely makes it through school, and you're dissing the one genius you'll ever know? That's rich." retorted Jezebel, shining her flashlight in Ash's eyes for a moment before turning back to examine the totem that was erected along then narrow trail.
"Oh fuck you! Fuckin' Satanist!"
"I'm not a Satanist, you ugly cow! I'm a witch" responded Jezebel, to which Ash countered with a bellowing laugh. The others couldn't help but smile as well, except for Jez of course.
"Tim looked back over his shoulder, gazing mostly at Ash as it was clear she was being a bully. "Will you two both shut the fuck up! Jesus! We've got to find our way out of these damned woods. Tup's foot is super swollen."
Being reminded of the seriousness of their situation seemed to settle the moment, minus some low grumbling as the squad continued to make their way down the path.
The leaves were wet from the dew and the night air was thickening with fog, which wasn't helping the situation. They could barely see the clouds over head through the thick branches and leaves that had not yet fallen from the forests' trees. And no one had said it out loud, but it felt like rain, which was the worst thing that could happen right now.
As he shined his light on the totem, Shadow shook his head. Then brought it light up toward the trees over head. "Damn, this shit's thick in here. If we could just see the stars, maybe it would help us find our way out."
Looking back over his shoulder, holding Tupper's hand, Phil smiled at his friend. "What, you Daniel Boon now? Gonna get us out of here with your survival skills, buddy?"
Shadow chuckled, "No brah, I'm out of my element here. But I bet Sophia could get us out of here if she could see that north star. Hell, I wouldn't even know what it looks like."
Jezebel responded as she continued down the path, shining her light on the totems as they passed by. "That's right! We should be headed south to get to the cars. If we could use the north star! Don't you think, Soph?"
Sophie nodded, adjusting the now heavy pack on her back. "Yeah, that's a great idea, actually. If we can find a break in these clouds and see some stars. But, these clouds, they look thick, and I get the feeling it's about to rain."
"Oh fuck, don't say that." Responded Ashley as she whimpered in disgust.
Sophie shrugged and smiled "Sorry, it's just, I mean it's true. I dunno."
"Nah, I know you're right. Hey, sorry about earlier, ok. I'm just tired and a little scared right."
"All good Ash, me too babes."
Tim looked up through what little he could see and then down the long lane. Squinting, he thought he could see a cabin or a shed or some sort of small building about 300 yards away. "Hey guys, I think I see a building or a house or something."
"Oh, thank God!" shouted Ashley. She looked over at Jez and stuck her tongue out at her.
Jez didn't say a word, only rolled her eyes and shook her head in response as she peered down the long path, barely catching the outline of some sort of structure. "Yeah, I think I see it too! Maybe someone's there and maybe they've got a landline. I still can't get any reception. Have the rest of you checked lately?"
Everyone checked their phones and shook their head's, grumbling to themselves. Continuing on, as a gust of wind rustled the leaves in the trees that surrounded the group, they concentrated on the silhouette, hoping for the best.
"Well, at least it could be a place to rest up, and we could take a look at my foo....." Tupper's voice trailed off as she tilted her head,listening intensely.
Phil noticed first, looking over at her. "What is it, Tup?"
"I heard something. Listen! Can you hear that?"
They all listened closely for several seconds then shook their heads, snickering.
"Hey, looks like Tup's the Daniel Boone in this crew, Phil." Jested Shadow from behind them.
"Oh kay Oh kay, whatever. I swore I could hear something, though. I sounded like breathing or a growl or someth.... Fuck!! I know I heard it that time, guys. C'mon! Don't tell me y'all can't hear that?!"
They all listened earnestly trying to hear whatever it was that was alarming her. Tup, was fun loving and normally the joker of their little squad, but she was visibly shaken and the trembling in her voice sounded legitimate.
It was Sophie who first heard it. "I hear it! Where is that coming from?"
Ray looked over at her, shaking his head, shrugging before his eyes widened. "Holy fuck! What is that?"
Ash turned a bit, looking over at Ray. She squinted through the light fog, shining her light at him.
Realizing her light was right on his face she giggled and started to apologize, "Oh sorry, I didn't mean to ... HOLY SHIT!"
Tim, Tupper, and Phil all looked back over at Ash, and so did Jez. "What! What Ash?!!"
Sophie and Shadow started to scream. "Fuck sake! Go y'all go!!" Ash's torchlight's long cone trembled in the darkness, casting a light on the monster as she stood there paralyzed with fear.
Looking back, Tim, Tupper, and Phil gasped gazing at the creature, its great antlers knocked the leaves off the trees above and around it. It was big and it was coming!
Phil quickly hurled Tup over his shoulder and screamed to the others, "Run!! Run to that house!!"
Tim quickly curled his arm about Ash, pulling her out of her shock. "C'mon Ash! Run! Run to the house!!"
Seeing Ashley safe, Tim slowed to let Phil and Tupper catch up to him. "I'll try to pull it off you guys!"
"No! Don't do it, Tim! Run to the house!" Phil exclaimed.
Disregarding his friend's pleas, Tim ran off into the woods, Tupper watching him disappear into the trees. What she saw after that caused her to scream as she hung over Phil's shoulder.
"Oh my God!!"
About 100 yards away she could see leaves flying, small trees and saplings falling over as something huge cut through the forest towards Tim. The trunks and branches cracked, sounding like gunfire in the cold dark of the forest.
"Phil! Something is breaking the trees down, moving to Tim!"
"Goddammit! Just hold on, we're almost there. We'll get him!" Phil could hear the monster gaining on him. Its feet pounded into the damp earth so hard he could feel the ground shake as he ran as hard as he could.
At the house, Shadow hurled himself toward the door forcing it open and helped the girls inside then rushed back toward Phil and Tup, gasping when he saw the trees and brush just a few hundred yards away breaking off weirdly in another direction.
"Oh my God!" Shadow yelled out when he saw the huge just a few feet away from Phil and Tupper burst out of the woods like a raging bull.
"Phil he's coming!" Tupper screamed. Her fear caused her to wiggle around under his strong arm and in his desperation he yelled at her. "Stop moving. Don't look Tup! Don't look at it!"
She closed her eyes, squinting, praying for help as she felt the beast hot breath against her face and the first drops a cold rain.
Under her, Phil panted and strained, folding his arm around her legs so tight it hurt. As they got closer to what turned out to be a small cabin, she screamed when Shadow literally hurled his body into them both, pushing them over onto the dusty floor in the cabin just as the monstrosity reached to snatch them up.
Phil and Shadow scrambled to close the heavy door, as the monster screeched out, circling the small enclosure.
Jezebel screamed out as she and Ashley held onto each other crying. "What the fuck is that?!! What the fuck!"
Tupper groaned in pain, thankful to be alive, panting as her ankle and foot throbbed mercilessly.
She scooted over to the other girls, holding her injured leg and wailed out,
"We've got to get Tim!"
Shadow looked at Phil. "Where's Tim?"
Bent over, panting, sweating profusely and trying to catch his breath, he looked up at Shadow and shook his head. "I dunno. He, ah, he headed out to try to get it off us. I tried to stop him, but he just ran.
All of a sudden, they heard Tim screaming.
The cabin went silent as they remained motionless and terrified. They could only hear each other breathing before he screamed again, his voice cutting through the rainy, dark night.
And then everything stopped and there was nothing.
They each lowered their heads, all silent, save for the gargling and growling from the creature just outside the door.
*****************************
Well, this is the last of my Halloween pics this year. It's been so much fun. I don't normally put out so many, but I kept getting ideas right! lol
I want to thank so many people who were so gracious and kind to me, giving me their time to create these. We had a lot of fun. I still didn't get everyone in these like I wanted to, but Christmas is right around the corner!
Anyway, thank you all and thank everyone who looks at my stuff and gives me a fave. I really appreciate it.
The actors in this adventure are:
and me. :)
Perched in a tree right at the side of the road, this Barred Owl was alternating between closing its eyes and snapping to attention when the dried leaves would rustle beside it.
Kawartha Lakes, Ontario, Canada
Иногда бывают такие моменты, когда наступает внутреннее спокойствие и умиротворение. Нет нужды куда-либо спешить, нет незавершенных дел, нет мгновенных прихотей. Эти моменты, словно капли легкого летнего дождя, наполняют тебя гармонией и силой. Тот вечер был именно таким.
Мой фотографический азарт давно прошел, и камера мирно покоилась на штативе, ожидая быть убранной в темный рюкзак. Я сидел на большом, чуть холодном валуне, наблюдая как последние лучи солнца покидают долину, и она погружается в тягучую тень. В руках я вертел сосновую шишку, пытаясь вспомнить момент, когда она оказалась у меня в кармане. Теперь зрелище разворачивалось высоко в небе, где разбивали свои краски яркие оттенки оранжевого и розового. Солнце, как будто терзая горизонты, медленно опускалось на западе, заливая мир вокруг мягким светом и лишь самые высокие горы нежились в его лучах.
Каждая минута казалась вечностью. Я чувствовал, как ветер окутывает и убаюкивает меня, нежно шепча свои таинственные истории. Издалека доносились трели птиц, гул ручья и шорох листвы, сопровождая мою медитацию. Каждый вдох наполнял мои легкие чистым горным воздухом. Этот прохладный аромат горных высот, смешивающийся с теплом уходящего дня, казался мне целебным.
Закат продолжал разгораться, превращая небо в огромную палитру, где каждый цвет был необычайно живым и насыщенным. Я думал о том, как много в жизни бывает мимолетных вещей, но как же хочется запомнить этот момент, каждую секунду, каждую краску, каждую мысль, что возникла в голове. Бережно уложив шишку на нагретый мною валун и нарушив покой своей камеры, я целиком отдался азарту, который разгорался с той же силой, что и закат.
Sometimes there are moments when inner peace and tranquility descend upon you. There’s no need to rush anywhere, no unfinished tasks, no fleeting whims. These moments, like drops of a gentle summer rain, fill you with harmony and strength. That evening was exactly like that.
My photographic enthusiasm had long passed, and the camera rested peacefully on the tripod, waiting to be stored in the dark backpack. I sat on a large, slightly cold boulder, watching the last rays of the sun leave the valley, and it plunges into viscous shadow. I twirled a pine cone in my hands, trying to remember when it had ended up in my pocket. Now, a splendid sight unfolded high in the sky, where bright shades of orange and pink were mingling. The sun, as if tearing the horizons apart, slowly dipped in the west, bathing the world around with a soft light, leaving only the highest peaks to bask in its rays.
Each minute felt like an eternity. I felt the wind enveloping and lulling me, gently whispering its mysterious stories. From afar came the trills of birds, the murmur of a stream, and the rustle of leaves reached me, accompanying my meditation. Each breath filled my lungs with pure mountain air. The cool scent of the mountain heights, mingled with the warmth of the passing day, seemed healing to me.
The sunset continued to intensify, transforming the sky into a vast palette where every color was extraordinarily vibrant and rich. I pondered how many fleeting moments there are in life, yet how deeply I wanted to capture this instant, every second, every hue, every thought that arose in my mind. Carefully placing the pine cone on the warm boulder I had heated and breaking the tranquility of my camera, I surrendered wholeheartedly to the excitement that flared up with the same intensity as the sunset.
“Ever felt an angel's breath in the gentle breeze? A teardrop in the falling rain? Hear a whisper amongst the rustle of leaves? Or been kissed by a lone snowflake? Nature is an angel's favourite hiding place. ”
~Carrie Latet
John Hiatt | Listening To Old Voices
"They have come to walk the wind
I can hear them as they rustle through the trees..."
In the heart of the forest lies a winding path, hidden beneath a canopy of emerald leaves and dappled sunlight. As you meander along its twisting course, every step seems to whisper secrets of forgotten tales and ancient wonders. Moss-covered stones and gnarled roots guide your journey, while the soft rustle of leaves overhead beckons you deeper into the enchanting maze. Each turn brings a new discovery, a hidden glade bathed in golden light or a babbling brook dancing through the ferns. In this whimsical realm of wandering, every twist and turn unveils the magic of the unknown, inviting you to lose yourself in the adventure of the forest's embrace.
The core of the Milky Way, myriad stars, and the planet Jupiter reflect on the tranquil surface of the Gunnison River near Paonia, Colorado. A number of bright green dots in the riparian vegetation are made by fireflies (Photuris sp.) as they signal to potential mates. Toads rustled in the bushes behind me as I sat with my sons in the quiet dark, eyes and ears open, absorbing.
There were still a few hours until sunset and I was sitting alone in the snow beside Dove Lake taking in the start of a perfect afternoon. The walk in had been enjoyable but long so I was using this opportunity to drink some water, have a few bites to eat and give some thought to my impending photographic options.
Far away from the worries of life in Sydney and alone in my thoughts life was pretty good.
As I rustled through my bag to find another banana I felt a presence next to me. I turned to discover an infant wombat, right beside me. I mean, RIGHT beside me!
Immediately my mind swung into photographic mode. “Schneider 50mm? No. Zeiss 15mm? No, maybe. No. Wait – 24-70. Did I pack the 24-70? Will this thing move whilst I check and how long have I got? How can I position him right in front of the lake and Cradle? My DoF is going to be way out. Where’s my sun? Do I have a flash? No – Crap.”
During my frantic analysis the unexpected happened. My little wombat had edged even closer to me. In a moment of complete serenity it dawned on me that he actually wasn’t afraid - I turned away from my camera and broke off a piece of my banana and it was at that moment that I sat beside a mirrored Dove Lake with Cradle Mountain blanketed by snow, completely on my own and hand fed a wombat sitting beside me.
What’s the motto of this story?
Sometimes the best thing you can do is not think. Not wonder. Not imagine. Not obsess. Just breathe and have faith that everything will work out for the best.
View large and, as always, thanks for looking!
This is another one for my Wobbly Camera project: bluebells in the local woods, taken last month.
One of the things that appeals to me about wobblies is they give an impression of things rather than a record of a scene. Sometimes the impressions are more significant combining as they can emotions and other feelings of the time like changing light and scent, and sounds like the rustle of wind in the leaves…
Also for the Flower Friday group. I hope the impression of flowers is floral enough!
Thank you for taking the time to look. I hope you enjoy the image. Happy Freitagsblümchen :)
Obby is blessed with a beautiful set of large magnificent ears in which to hear even the slightest sounds relating to his food...it could be the rustle of a plastic bag of kibble, the quiet filling his food bowl, opening a can of wet food, the spoon from the drawer, or (lol) opening the refrigerator. Given this quality in my orange boy, he would be an outstanding security alarm system.....properly trained, of course. Happy Caturday to all our friends.
what a hauntingly beautiful scene we have here. This isn't just a bridge; it's a passage into the unknown, a monochrome gateway draped in the ghostly whispers of nature. The trees stand tall like silent sentinels, guardians of the secrets that lie beyond. The ferns, pale as if touched by a spectral hand, rustle with the quiet breath of hidden creatures watching from the shadows.
The light filters through the canopy in a way that's both ethereal and foreboding, as if challenging the bravest of souls to cross the threshold. It's as though at any moment, one might expect to see the Headless Horseman himself emerge, galloping silently across this wooden path, his pumpkin head tucked under his arm.
The photographer has captured more than just an image; they've captured a still from a story where the next frame is left to the imagination of the beholder. It's a picture that wouldn't be out of place on the cover of a collection of Edgar Allan Poe's tales or as the backdrop to a chilling, acoustic rendition of "Welcome to My Nightmare". Magnificent, indeed.
If
for a moment
a rustle in the field
a shift of weather
a gathering of clouds
trees sway
You stand up
from where you lay
and if you see
a sight
…
You stand
still
and you hold
on
…
Till it’s gone
"A garden is to be enjoyed, and should satisfy the mind and not only the eye of the beholder. Sounds such as the rustle of bamboo and the dripping of water, scents and sensations such as grass or gravel or stone underfoot, appeal to the emotions and play a part in the total impression."
Penelope Hobhouse
This image was captured at the Japanese Garden in Portland, Oregon. When I read the above quotation, it seemed the author was describing that location.
Here's to us all finding gardens to wander through.
NOI AMIAMO IL SILENZIO,
non ci disturba.
Quando il topo gioca vicino a noi,
quando il vento nel bosco
fa frusciare le foglie,
noi non abbiamo paura.
dal discorso di un Capo Indiano al Governatore della Pennsylvania, 1796
WE LOVE SILENCE,
it doesn't bother us.
When the mouse plays near us,
when the wind in the woods
makes the leaves rustle,
we are not afraid.
from the speech of an Indian Chief to the Governor of Pennsylvania, 1796
www.edizionilpuntodincontro.it/libri/sai-che-gli-alberi-p...
🌸 Rachel Dress by Newphe — A Moonlit Courtship Beneath the Trees 🌸
The night air shimmered with a soft, golden hush, the kind that only autumn evenings at my parents’ retreat can hold. The table was dressed in linen and candlelight, set beneath a canopy of whispering branches. I could hear the gentle rustle of the leaves, the rhythm of the crickets, and—between all of it—his voice, low and warm, filling the silence with unspoken desire.
Tonight, I wore Rachel — the breathtakingly sensual new creation by Newphe — and every moment felt like a scene stolen from a love story I didn’t want to end.
💗 The Silhouette & Cut
Rachel embraces my curves in a seamless sheath of ribbed knit fabric that feels like a second skin. The off-the-shoulder neckline exposes just enough collarbone to make him lean in closer, while the long sleeves slip softly down my arms, hinting at vulnerability and promise. Its body-con silhouette sculpts every line of the feminine form — that fine balance between grace and seduction that defines the art of modern allure.
✨ Styling & Intimate Details
The vertical ribbing elongates the figure, drawing the eye upward and inward, a visual symphony of texture and light. It is minimalism made sensual — every contour intentional, every seam whispering intimacy. The fabric stretches with effortless ease, moving with my body as I stand beneath the stars, his eyes following every subtle sway.
🌹 Fashion Heritage
This look traces its lineage back to the sultry off-shoulder designs of the late 1950s — that moment when elegance first dared to flirt with rebellion. Think Bardot in Saint-Tropez, Marilyn in Rome — yet Rachel redefines it for now, with a contemporary sculptural edge that honors femininity as both soft and powerful.
🎨 HUD & Color Options
Newphe’s color HUD offers a captivating palette — from playful pastels and creamy blush tones to deep jewel shades and classic neutrals. Each hue transforms the mood: powder pink for flirtation, crimson for passion, graphite for quiet confidence, and ivory for the woman who knows she doesn’t need to try too hard.
As he reached across the table, our fingers brushed. The candles flickered, and I realized — the real magic of Rachel isn’t just how it looks, but how it feels: unapologetically feminine, daringly elegant, and intoxicatingly alive.
💫 Rachel Dress — by Newphe
Available for Legacy, Perky, Bombshell, LaraX, PetiteX, Reborn, and Waifu mesh bodies.
✨ Acquire it here: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Maribella/80/216/2288
“Some nights, the stars don’t just shine — they conspire.”
The Lost Valley (Coire Gabhail) at the end of our second walk in Glencoe. It can only be seen from the top of the hike or from the air. Legend has it that this is where the Clan MacDonald hid cattle they had rustled from the other Clans.
Wishing you my dear Flickr friends a peaceful day.
Thanks so much for all the love and kind words you sent for my humble work.
Your support and cheers mean the world to me.
Love
Emma
And autumn, tired but gentle,
rests its head
on winter’s quiet shoulder.
The first snow listens
to the last rustle of leaves,
as if translating a fading language
for those who still believe
in beautiful goodbyes.
The forest holds its breath,
two seasons in one heartbeat,
neither willing
to let the other go first.
A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.
-- Eric Sloane
[For Heather, in memory of her visit...;-)]
To sit here, breathing in the wildness, is to feel a part of the grand design, a single thread woven into the intricate tapestry of existence. The anxieties of the world fade, replaced by the profound peace of simply being, witnessed by the silent wisdom of nature and held within the embrace of something larger than ourselves.
This is the touch of God, the gentle hand that stirs the wind and rustles the leaves, the timeless will behind the carving of canyons by unseen waters. There's a surrender in the rustling leaves, a trust in the eternal waltz of bloom and fade.
Yesterday evening at home in my garden at Long Acre Manor , I watched the Sun getting low highlighting my early flowering orange Poppies, they brought me such comfort as the wind rustled the long grass knowing of the long day ahead today, have a wonderful Friday ~ KissThePixel2019
Taken with the Lensbaby Twist 60mm f2.5 on the NikonDF
"Why are the woods so alluring? A forest appears
to a young girl one morning as she combs
the dreams out of her hair. The trees rustle
and whisper, shimmer and hiss. The forest
opens and closes, a door loose on its hinges,
banging in a strong wind. Everything in the dim
kitchen: the basin, the jug, the skillet, the churn,
snickers scornfully. In this way a maiden
is driven toward the dangers of a forest,
but the forest is our subject, not this young girl.
She’s glad to lie down with trees towering all around.
A certain euphoria sets in. She feels molecular,
bedeviled, senses someone gently pulling her hair,
tingles with kisses she won’t receive for years.
Three felled trees, a sort of chorus, narrate
her thoughts, or rather channel theirs through her,
or rather subject her to their peculiar verbal
restlessness ... our deepening need for non-being intones
the largest and most decayed tree, mid-sentence.
I’m not one of you squeaks the shattered sapling,
blackened by lightning. Their words become metallic
spangles shivering the air. Will I forget the way home?
the third blurts. Why do I feel like I’m hiding in a giant’s nostril?
the oldest prone pine wants to know. Are we being freed
from matter? the sapling asks. Insects are well-intentioned,
offers the third tree, by way of consolation. Will it grow
impossible to think a thought through to its end? gasps the sapling,
adding in a panicky voice, I’m becoming spongy! The girl
feels her hands attach to some distant body. She rises
to leave, relieved these trees are not talking about her."
-- Amy Gerstler
nor feel the feathery touch of the breast of a dove;
but we know their presence by the love they create in our hearts.”
― Mary Baker Eddy, Poems by Mary Baker Eddy
Blog Post
sllorinovo.blogspot.com/2018/01/cora-pearls-by-narcisse.html
The daylight had just begun to strain through the cracks in the dark brooding sky, a bitter north wind blew with a familiar fall chill that sent icy little darts of frozen rain drops pinging against my jacket and face; making me flinch. There wasn't another sound amidst the silence save the rustle of the wind in the trees. All was still except the occasional leaf or two that would blow by only to be lost in the dark shadows of the waning night.
Thank you for visiting for marking my photo as a favourite and for the kind comments,
Please do not copy my image or use it on websites, blogs or other media without my express permission.
© NICK MUNROE (MUNROE PHOTOGRAPHY)
You can contact me
by email @
karenick23@yahoo.ca
munroephotographic@gmail.com
munroedesignsphotography@gmail.com
or on Facebook @
www.facebook.com/MunroePhotography/
On Instagram
Title.
September beach.
(iPhone 13 Pro shot)
Motosuka Beach. Kujukuri Beach. Sanmu City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. 2025. … 1 / 1
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images:
ELLEGARDEN … The End of the World
youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=3dlYv3ccvIMJwnjj
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 17😄
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)
Columbia Point Residences, a redevelopment of an old warehouse district near the piers of Red Hook that look south over New York Harbor, sat with Williamsburg’s commercial and arts quarter to its north, a reclaimed stretch of landfill between them transformed into a quiet new neighborhood of low-rise detached houses.
On the freshly paved streets the laughter of children echoed, and the soft afternoon sun gently lit the roof tiles and white exterior walls. The wind carried a cool, saline scent from the sea, and, far off in the harbor, a ship’s horn punctuated the calm.
Residents were building new lives here, apart from the city’s daily tumult.
At three in the afternoon the light was still mild, gilding the leaves of the street trees. Mariners’ Row—this new residential enclave—presented itself with almost calculated perfection: rows of white houses, straight sidewalks flanking them. The scent of new construction and still-wet paint hung faintly in the air.
Mark Sanchez stood by the large living-room window and imagined a happy future for his family.
His unit, ERO, was the field force within ICE responsible for immigration enforcement and removals—hardened by the harsh realities of carrying out deportations—contrasted with HSI’s international-crime investigations. But here, behind the glass, he was simply a father and a husband.
Rachel had begun preparing dinner in the kitchen. Children’s voices drifted from the distant school-bus stop.
— Calm. Perhaps life is distilled on a Sunday at three in the afternoon, — he murmured inwardly.
The afternoon light slanted more and more; shadows reflected in the window stretched. On the neighborhood street, an old man walked slowly, pushing a cart as he walked his dog. The crossing laughter of children made that scene seem like an emblem of a gentle, innocent world.
Inside the house, the children were absorbed in play, and Rachel greeted them with a smile. The outside air was mild, the breeze only slightly warm; curtains swayed softly.
Mark opened the front door and checked the mailbox. There were notices about the new school and an announcement for a local disaster-preparedness drill.
At three in the afternoon, as the second hand crept forward, silence deepened.
Beside the house’s foundation concrete there was a faint tremor.
In the afternoon hush, the harbor horn and the rustle of leaves in the breeze filled the soundscape—sounds that masked a subtle detonation so that the surrounding residents did not notice. Smoke rose slowly; there was no fierce blaze at the moment of explosion, only fine dust quietly filling the air. The collapse did not happen all at once but proceeded slowly and inevitably. Part of the exterior wall developed quiet fissures; glass trembled and fractured into fine shards. Wooden posts toppled one by one without a sound, the house crumbling inward as if in a muted dance. A small shock set off a chain reaction of charges that dismantled the structure from within—silently yet surely. The exterior split without fanfare; windows became powder; wooden supports began to fall.
But the noise had been suppressed to the greatest extent possible; the neighborhood’s residents scarcely noticed anything had occurred.
In the distance, silhouettes of buildings slumped and settled. Not only Mark’s house but a blue house about three hundred meters across the street, and a white house further in, kicked up clouds of dust.
Three houses vanished in an instant.
The wind halted for a moment; only the leaves of the street trees trembled.
Mariners’ Row’s afternoon regained its former stillness, as if nothing had happened.
Yet everything had changed.
By planting small, distributed charges of C4 at several points in the foundation concrete and detonating them in precisely timed, ordered sequences, the shockwave could be minimized while the skeleton of the structure was collapsed from the inside.
Rafi’s knowledge of architecture had made possible not mere destruction but a “quiet collapse.”
“Use only the force that’s necessary”—that was his credo.
From a rooftop some distance away, Rafi watched the scene unfold; a deep silence flowed through his chest. For him, it was both an outcry and a prayer. The silence dwelling in destruction was the expression of his tangled feelings.
From childhood, Rafi had found refuge only in silence. The clamor of children playing in Gaza’s dusty alleys, the thunder of airstrikes—these had only wounded him more deeply. In a rundown corner of Gaza, the small Rafi leaned against a wall. When the roar of bombardment receded, the brief stillness was a salvation.
His mother’s tears, his father’s anger—the chaos of it all—the boy sought only a place without sound. He fled inward to a world without noise.
Tinkering with the innards of a broken radio with small hands, Rafi first understood the relation between destruction and quiet. A ruined radio, after it lost its sound, simply remained there in material form, silently.
As he grew, his inner life knotted into complexity. He studied architecture at the Islamic University to make shapes and manipulate structures as a way to steady the disorder within him. Even the days bent over blueprints failed to soothe the quiet madness hidden under his skin. When he faced a building plan, his hands trembled; in his head the calculated beauty of structure mixed with the cool cruelty of demolition.
Then he found a method to produce the silence he had once sought: planting bombs.
For him, it was the only way to externalize his pain. The C4 placed silently at a building’s core crystallized the intersection of his desire to destroy and his thirst for silence. Israel’s attacks on Gaza had stoked his rage, but the true explosion had been nurtured in the quiet of his childhood. For Rafi, releasing explosives without sound was a ritual of severing himself from the world’s noise.
Rafi’s heart could find rest only in the stillness of destruction; he was trapped in a darkness no one noticed.
Without sound, unnoticed by anyone, he broke his world and obtained silence.
And no one knew that his cry was hidden within that quiet destruction.
Construction of Columbia Point Residences had begun in 2024. The three collapsed houses had been occupied by staff of the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement—ICE—and its Enforcement and Removal Operations, ERO.
They took off their uniforms, sat at these tables with their families. By day they detained migrants and sent them out of the country; by night they held children on their laps and drank beer.
To Rafi, those two faces were one mask. Smile and cruelty breathed under the same skin. It was almost impossible to discern the boundary. He had seen the light in those houses many nights—the silhouettes at dinner through the curtains, laughter. There were no faces of the detained among them.
Each night Rafi never missed the five prayers. His fingertips turned sacred pages of the Qur’an; Arabic verses rang in his heart. “True strength lies in patience; vengeance is entrusted to God”—that phrase steadied him, lending calm. His anger was forbidden to flare; it lived quietly inside.
Recent news repeated the same refrain daily—“a million deported annually,” “military bases converted to detention centers,” “raids even on pending family applications”—numbers passing through the broadcast with a dry sound. But behind those numbers were names: his mother’s name, his sister’s name, the old man next door. Those names did not run on the news; they had no voice.
Rafi thought: this is not policy but selection—sorting who to keep and who to cast aside on sheets of paper. His faith taught mercy and justice, yet the world trampled those teachings. “God is the judge; we are only witnesses”—he repeated in his heart, while refusing to look away.
People in the city sought ways to lighten their lives. Yet tariff hikes made the very air heavy. Bread, nails, gasoline rose in price; sighs filled the shopping streets. Oddly, ICE and ERO garages always housed new vehicles; uniforms looked uncreased and shoes had thick soles. It was the result of budget and protection, the payoff for casting others aside.
Rafi kept calm. To erupt in emotion was to feed the enemy’s desire. So he hid his anger. The fire burning within him was tended like a vow to God—silent and steady.
Stories of neighbors taken in the night, a child crying as someone was seized—each one settled into him and became fuel. But it never flared. It only fed the coals and raised the burn temperature. From the outside, he seemed a gentle man. Inside, however, a balanced plan of destruction was quietly taking shape.
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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...
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
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.
九月の海辺。
( iPhone 13 pro shot )
本須賀海岸。九十九里浜。山武市。千葉県。日本。2025. … 1 / 1
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
ELLEGARDEN … The End Of The World（歌詞、和訳付き）
youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=3dlYv3ccvIMJwnjj
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第17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。)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
ニューヨーク港を南に望むレッドフックの埠頭に近い、古い倉庫街を開発したコロンビア・ポイント・レジデンシズは、北側にウィリアムズバークの商業・アート地区を背にし、その間の埋立地を再造成した、低層戸建て中心の静かな新興住宅街だ。
新しく舗装された道には、子供たちの笑い声がこだまし、午後の柔らかな陽射しが屋根の瓦や白壁の外壁を優しく照らしている。風は海からの冷たい香りを運び、港湾の遠くで聞こえる船の汽笛が静けさにアクセントを加えた。
住民たちは日常の喧騒から離れ、ここに新たな生活の基盤を築いている。
午後３時の陽射しは、まだ柔らかく街路樹の葉を黄金色に染めていた。
マリナーズ・ロウの新興住宅街は、まるで計算されたように完璧な整列を見せている。白壁の戸建てが並び、まっすぐな歩道が両脇に伸びる。新築の香りと、まだ新しいペンキの匂いが微かに漂っていた。
マーク・サンチェスはリビングの大きな窓から外を眺めながら、家族の幸せな未来を思い描いていた。
彼が属するEROは、ICEを構成する２部門のうちのひとつ、HSIの国際犯罪捜査に比べ、EROの移民の強制執行や送還を行う現場部隊で培った厳しい現実もあったが、ここではただの父親であり夫だった。
レイチェルはキッチンで夕食の準備を始めている。子供たちの声が、遠くのスクールバス停から聞こえてきた。
ー 穏やかだ。日曜日の午後３時に、人生は集約されているかもしれない ー
彼は胸のうちでそうつぶやいた。
午後の光は徐々に斜めになり、窓ガラスに映る影が伸びていく。住宅街の通りでは犬の散歩をする老人が一人、手押し車を押しながらゆっくり歩いていた。子供たちの笑い声が交差するその風景は、穏やかで無垢な世界の象徴のようだった。
家の中では子供たちが遊びに夢中になり、レイチェルがにこやかに声をかけている。外の空気は穏やかで、風はわずかに暖かく、揺れるカーテンが優しく靡いていた。
マークは玄関のドアを開け、郵便受けを確認する。ポストには新しい学校の案内と地域の防災訓練のお知らせが入っていた。
午後三時、秒針がゆっくりと動く中、静寂が深まっていった。
家の中心、基礎のコンクリートのすぐ脇が微かに揺れた。
午後の静けさの中、遠くからは港湾の汽笛と、風に揺れる街路樹の葉擦れの音が響いていた。それらの環境音が、わずかな爆破音をかき消し、周囲の住民が気づくことはなかった。煙はゆっくりと立ち上り、爆発の瞬間に生まれる激しい炎はなく、ただ細かな粉塵が静かに空気を満たした。倒壊は一気ではなく、ゆっくりと、しかし確実に進んだ。外壁の一部が静かに亀裂を生み、ガラスは微細に震えながら割れていく。木製の柱が一本、また一本と音もなく倒れ、家全体が内側から崩れていく様は、まるで静かな舞踏のようだった。爆薬はわずかな衝撃で連鎖反応を起こし、家の構造を静かに、しかし確実に破壊していく。外壁は音もなく割れ、ガラスは粉々になり、木製の柱が倒れ始めた。
しかし、騒音は極力抑えられ、周囲の住民たちは何が起きたのか気づきにくいほどだ。
遠くで小さく崩れ落ちる建物のシルエットがあった。マークの家屋だけでなく、通りを挟んで３００mほど先の青い家、そして、そこからさらに奥へ進んだ白い家から砂埃が舞い上がった。
3軒の家が瞬時に消えた。
風が一瞬止み、街路樹の葉が揺れる音だけが響く。
マリナーズ・ロウの午後は、再び何事もなかったかのように静けさを取り戻した。
しかし、すべては変わってしまったのだ。
基礎のコンクリートに小分けしたC4を複数箇所に埋め込み、微細なタイミングで順序良く起爆させることで、衝撃波を最小限に抑えつつ構造の骨組みを内側から崩していく。
ラフィの建築学の知識が、単なる破壊ではなく「静かなる崩壊」を可能にしていた。
「必要な力だけを使う」——それが彼の信念だった。
ラフィは遠くの建物の屋上からその光景を見つめ、胸に深い静寂が流れた。彼にとって、それは叫びでもあり、祈りでもあった。破壊の中に宿る静寂こそが、彼の複雑な感情の表現だったのだ。
ラフィは幼いころから、静寂の中にしか安らぎを見いだせなかった。
ガザの埃っぽい路地裏で遊ぶ子供たちの喧騒も、爆撃の轟音も、彼の心を深く傷つけるだけだった。廃れたガザの街角で、幼いラフィは静かに壁にもたれかかっていた。爆撃の轟音が遠ざかる瞬間、その静寂は彼にとって一瞬の救いだった。
母の涙、父の怒り、そのすべてが混ざり合う騒乱の中で、彼はただ「音のない場所」を求めていた。彼は音のない世界へと逃げ込んだ。
小さな手で壊れかけたラジオの中身をいじりながら、ラフィは初めて「破壊」と「静けさ」の関係に気づいた。壊れたラジオは、音を失った後に、ただ静かにそこに物質としての形状を保っていた。
成長するにつれ、彼の内面は複雑に絡み合った。
イスラム大学の建築学部に進んだのは、形を作り、構造を操ることで、彼の心の乱れを制御しようとしたからだ。大学で建築を学ぶ日々も、彼の心の奥底に潜む静かな狂気を癒すには足りなかった。建物の設計図に向き合うとき、彼の指先は震え、頭の中で計算される構造の美しさと破壊の冷徹さが入り混じった。
そして彼は、かつて自分が求めた静寂を「作り出す」方法を見つけた。
爆弾を仕掛けること。
それは彼にとって、自分の痛みを外に放つ唯一の手段だった。
建物の中心に静かに仕掛けられたC4は、彼の「破壊への欲求」と「静寂への渇望」が交錯した結晶だった。イスラエルによるガザ攻撃は彼の憎悪を燃え上がらせたが、真の爆発は幼少期の沈黙の中でじわじわと育まれていた。彼にとって、爆薬を音もなく解き放つ行為は、世界の騒音から自分自身を切り離す儀式だったのだ。
ラフィの心は、破壊の静けさの中にしか安息を見出せず、誰も気づかない闇に囚われていた。
音もなく、誰にも気づかれずに、彼は自らの世界を破壊し、静寂を手に入れる。
そしてその静かな破壊の中に、彼の叫びが隠されていることを、誰も知らなかった。
コロンビア・ポイント・レジデンシズは、２０２４年に工事の着工が始まった。崩壊した三棟に住んでいたのは、米国移民税関取締局のICEとその強制退去執行部門であるEROの職員たちだった。
彼らは制服を脱ぎ、この家で家族と食卓を囲む。昼間、移民を拘束し、国外へ送る彼らが、夜には子どもを膝に抱き、ビールを飲む。
ラフィには、その二つの顔がひとつの仮面にしか見えなかった。微笑みと冷酷が、同じ皮膚の下で息をしている。その境目を見極めることは、ほとんど不可能だった。彼は何度も、職員たちの家に灯る明かりを見た。カーテン越しに見える食卓の影、笑い声。そこには、拘束された者たちの顔はひとつもなかった。
ラフィは毎夜、沈黙のなかで五回の礼拝を欠かさなかった。彼の指先は厳かにクルアーンのページをめくり、アラビア語の詩句が心に響いた。
「真の強さは忍耐にあり、復讐は神の手に委ねられる」—その言葉が彼を支え、冷静さを与えた。
怒りは熱く燃え上がることを許されず、静かに内側で息づいていた。
最近のニュースは、毎日が同じ旋律を繰り返していた。
ー 「年間百万人送還」「軍事基地を収容所に転用」「家族申請中でも摘発」 ー
数字は乾いた音を立ててニュースの中を流れていく。
だが、その数字の裏側には名前があった。母の名、妹の名、隣に住んでいた老人の名。それらはニュースには載らず、声にもならなかった。
ラフィは思った。これは政策ではなく、選別だ。残す者と捨てる者を、書類の上で振り分ける作業だ。
彼の信仰は慈悲と正義を説く。だが今の世界は、その教えを踏みにじっていた。
「神は審判者、我らはただ証人」 — 彼は心の中で繰り返しながらも、見過ごすことを拒んだ。
街では誰もが生活を軽くする方法を探していた。だが、関税の引き上げは空気までも重くした。パンも、釘も、ガソリンも値を上げ、ため息が商店街を満たした。
不思議なことに、ICEやEROの車庫にはいつも新しい車が並んでいた。制服は新品のように皺ひとつなく、靴底は厚かった。それは予算と保護の結果であり、他者を切り捨てた見返りでもあった。
ラフィは冷静だった。
感情を爆発させるのは、敵の望むところだ。だから彼は、怒りを表には出さなかった。彼の内に燃える火は、神にささげる誓いのように、静かに、確実に燃え続けていた。
夜中に連れ去られた隣人の話。拘束の最中に子どもが泣き叫ぶ声。その一つ一つが、彼の胸の奥で沈殿し、火種になった。
しかし、決して燃え上がることはない。ただ、確実に燃料をくべ、燃焼温度を上げていく。外から見れば、彼は穏やかな男だった。
だが、内側では均衡の取れた破壊の計画が静かに形を成していた。
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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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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「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
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Ascolta ! Il Vento sta aumentando, l'aria è selvaggia con le foglie.
Si può sentire ancora il loro fruscio nel silenzio ...
****
Listen ! The wind is increasing, the air is wild with leaves.
You can still hear their rustle in the silence ...
Castle at Endless at Haraiki Bay
A Castle Old And Grey - Alexander Anderson
I never see a castle
That is gaunt and grey and grim,
But my thoughts at once go backward
To the past so misty and dim.
To the time when tower and turret,
Kept watch far over the vale;
And along the sounding draw-bridge
Rode knights in their suits of mail.
I see the sunshine glancing
On helmet, pennon, and spear;
And hear from the depth of the forest,
A bugle calling clear.
I fill the hall with visions
Of ladies rich in their bloom;
And stately knights in armour,
And waving with feather and plume.
If I climb the broken stairway,
Where the stone is smooth and fine,
I hear a rustle and whisper,
And footsteps in front of mine.
Whisper of youth and maiden,
As they met in the long ago;
His deep and strong and manly,
Hers tender and sweet and low.
But maiden and youth have vanished,
Away from the scene and the light;
Gone, too, the high-born lady,
And the plumed and armoured knight.
Only the grey old castle,
Of crumbling stone and lime,
Still stands to speak of the ages,
And the iron footsteps of Time.
A scream in the night snapped me awake to the sound of struggle. Then finally, the rustle of something falling. Another leaf bloodied by time's slaughter. Sigh.
Hidden Valley in Joshua Tree National Park was once a cattle rustlers hangout due to the fact a flat area was surrounded by a wall of rocks, creating a natural corral for the rustled cattle.
Day 3 of Algoma-Superior 2025 had our second stop of the day at Trappers Trail. This was a new location for me which proved interesting with it's boardwalk across the shallows of Rustle Lake.
Overcast skies had given way to bright sun and blue making exposure challenging.
On my way off the boardwalk section of the trail, I noticed this scene along the shallow shoreline where a lone golden tamarack was lit and glowing..
blogged here: djenglandphotography.blogspot.com/2025/12/photo-of-week-2...
The winding jeep tracks through Tadoba Andhari Tiger Reserve are a tapestry of light and shadow, where sunlight dances on bamboo leaves, creating a mesmerizing rhythm evoking a sense of wonder and excitement, beckoning you to explore the wild beauty that lies beyond.
Driving along these tracks, the sun filtering through the bamboo canopy, casting a dappled pattern on the forest floor. As the bamboo leaves rustle in the breeze, you are surrounded by the sounds of nature, the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the distant call of an animal. Your senses are heightened as you scan the forest for signs of wildlife.
Even if you don't see any wildlife, the jeep tracks and the magic of the forest themselves are a source of wonder. They tell a story, and they invite you to create your own memories that will last a lifetime.
Thanks for the comments, faves and visits
To see more of my 4K videos please see my Video Website: vimeo.com/randyherring
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This tranquil scene from Gibbs Gardens, Ball Ground, Georgia, draws the eye to a simple wooden bridge nestled among a verdant forest landscape. The bridge, with its classic slatted railings, provides a gentle crossing over a small creek, its natural wood tones blending seamlessly with the environment. Sturdy trees stand as guardians of this peaceful woodland. Shade-loving plants edge the scene, their leaves a soft counterpoint to the textured tree bark. This picture is a snapshot of serenity, a space where the only sounds are the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft babble of water—a secluded nook within the gardens where one can retreat and commune with nature’s quiet beauty.
In the still of night, beneath the moonlight's glow,
The trees stand tall, casting shadows below.
Their branches reach out like fingers in the dark,
A haunting sight that leaves an eerie mark.
The leaves rustle softly in the midnight breeze,
Whispering secrets to those who dare to seize
The chance to wander in the moonlight's beams,
And explore the mysteries of nature's dreams.
But beware the gloom that shrouds these moonlit trees,
For it can hold secrets that no one ever sees.
So tread with care in this God forsaken land,
And let caution guide you with its gentle hand.
Hemyock, Devon, UK.
#94
The photo was shot with Neutral density (ND) filters
Diaries of pine forest in North Bengal India 💚💚💚
In the heart of shadowed woods, where whispers roam,
Lies a realm of mystery, where secrets find home.
Beneath the cloak of a deep, dark, misty shroud,
Nature's whispers echo, in silence, loud.
Through veils of fog, where moonlight dances free,
Each step unveils a world, where ancient trees
Stand sentinel, guardians of forgotten lore,
Their branches reaching out, to touch the forest floor.
In this twilight realm, where time seems to stand still,
The air is thick with tales, each tree a quill.
Their leaves whisper legends, of ages long past,
As if the very earth holds memories vast.
Amidst the mist, where shadows intertwine,
The forest sings a song, both eerie and divine.
The hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves,
A symphony of nature, that never deceives.
Yet, in this darkness, there lies a certain grace,
A beauty that transcends the bounds of space.
For within the depths of this enigmatic scene,
Lies the essence of life, both wild and serene.
( generated by ChatGpt)