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As I drifted under and then behind her perch on Horsepen Bayou, Ms American Bald Eagle repositioned herself to better keep an eye on me.
Girl between grey men - Commemoration of the "Kristallnacht"
Gedenken am 9. November Berlin Reinickendorf
“Without music, life would be a mistake.... I would only believe in a God who knew how to dance.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
scoring at threadless: www.threadless.com/submission/344002/In_music_we_trust/sh...
For a brief moment, the boundary between people and nature disappears. A small Eurasian tree sparrow perches lightly on a hand, trusting enough to eat crumbs straight from the palm, while another waits close by. The background melts into soft branches and winter light, making the quiet exchange feel gentle and unplanned.
Olympus OM2000
Zuiko Auto-Zoom 75-150/4.0
Kodak Portra160
Epson Perfection 2400
Fidelity-Philadelphia Trust Company Building
currently Wells Fargo Building
sculptors: Piccirilli Brothers
window designers: d'Ascenzo Studios
architect: Simon & Simon, 1927-28
architectural style: Beaux-Arts
Center City - Rittenhouse Square
Avenue of the Arts - Broad Street Historic District
123-151 S. Broad St.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
“It was rigged, I tell you,” said Fletcher of Lenfald. He had stopped at an inn in the market city of Ainesford, during his return north from the C.R.A.S.H. games, in which he had been a participant and bronze medalist in Archery. He was giving a colorful account of the Games to the common room.
“We were told to eat at a local restaurant by a fellow competitor, an Outlaw, I think.”
“Why those scoundrels were allowed to participate is beyond me,” said Adam, an Ainesford native.
“Anyway, nearly the entire Lenfel team got awful food poisoning from the vile place. It was a struggle to stand up, let alone shoot straight. Of course, I knew something was up, so I didn’t have the house special like everyone else. Thus I escaped the worst of it, though camel burger I had was bad enough. Did you know ground meat could be tough?”
“Well, that does explain a lot,” said Adam. “We were hearing wild rumors that Garhims were actually better than Lenfels at archery.”
“Well they have been practicing,” said Fletcher, “I’ll give them that. What I’m really wondering is who put that Outlaw up to it. Of course, the Games overseers never investigated it. I suspect the Loreesi, but they didn’t win either. Maybe they just couldn’t shoot well enough even with the competition out of the way.”
“Well, I reckon we’ll be happy to get even camel burgers in Lenfald soon. Those new tariffs are driving the price of food higher and higher,” said Adam.
“Bah,” said Fletcher, “I say forget them and their grain. We can eat venison out of the woods.”
“That’s fine for you,” said Adam, “but this city lives on Loreesi grain. Cityfolk can’t get to the woods to hunt, and meat doesn’t keep. Poor merchant families are already starting to starve.”
“Well if we need to import,” said Fletcher, “it should be done privately, without letting the puppet-king’s highway robbers levy the tariffs.”
“There are outlaw smugglers out East, but they charge nearly as much as the taxmen. Besides, the Loreesi have patrols hunting smugglers, with orders to kill on sight, or so I’ve heard.”
“We don’t need the Outlaws,” said Fletcher, seeing a chance to make a quick Draken and thwart Chartres at the same time. “We’re not bound by the puppet-king’s laws. And you said that the cities need grain the most. There has to be a way to bring it in right here, under their noses.”
“Excuse me,” said a man sitting at the table nearby. He was dressed in Southern style clothes and a white turban. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying. My name is Hassan. I’m from South Ainesford, across the river, and I think I might be able to help you.”
“A Loreesi?” Fletcher said suspiciously. “Why would you want to help us?”
“Son,” Hassan said, “you aren’t the only ones whom that young fool Chartres has hurt. I’m a baker, and every day I bring bread across the bridge to sell in Ainesford. Now though, with the King’s Tariff on grain products, I can’t make a profit. It’s destroying my livelihood, and I’m not the only one either. Our farmers are forced to give away their grain for nearly nothing, while the Lenfels, happy to pay the old prices, starve.”
“It’s outrageous,” said Fletcher. “Now what do you propose?”
“Just this. I can buy grain in Loreos without suspicion, and more to the point, without taxes. My bakery is right on the riverfront, backed by an old dock frequented by fishermen.”
“Hmm, I see,” said Fletcher. “Do you have a place we could hide a riverboat for loading?”
“I have a celler which could be made to open the river, under the wharf,” said Hassan.
“Excellent,” said Fletcher. “Then we would just need a boat, and a place to land it on this side.”
“That wouldn’t be a problem,” said Adam. “Duke Meyrick, err, supports such entrepreneurship. If we landed a shipment of grain at the city docks, no questions would be asked.”
* * *
The conspiracy was assembled quickly. Adam recruited willing Lenfels, Fletcher obtained a small river boat, and Hassan stockpiled grain, purchasing in small amounts so as not to attract attention.
On a foggy night when the moon was new, the first boatload was brought across. Adam, Fletcher, and three other Lenfels brought the boat quietly across the river and slipped it under the docks. The conspirators had opened Hassan’s celler to the river, and Hassan’s son, a fisherman, had moored his boat and hung his nets to dry in front of the opening to hide it. The smugglers entered this hidden chamber, and docked. Fletcher kept his dirk and bow close to hand, but Hassan was trustworthy. They quickly loaded the boat with barrels of grain, then pushed off. With muffled paddles, they delivered their cargo directly to the Ainesford dock, where it was sold the next morning to be grateful citizens.
* * *
For the next several weeks this operation proceeded smoothly. Then one night, as Fletcher and his men were loading the boat, he saw Hassan enter, looking worried.
“My informant in the city guard has sent a message. They’re sending a squad of troops and they’re under orders to kill every smuggler they find. Someone’s tipped them off. ”
“Son of a used camel dealer!” Fletcher said. “We might be able to escape with the boat, but if they find our dock and all the grain in the bakery, you’ll be arrested for sure.”
“I doubt we could make it across. They’ve probably got a boat out there, watching.”
“Then we’ll have to fall back on the contingency plan. How much time do we have?”
“I give us ten minutes.”
* * *
Fletcher assembled their forces. He and another Lenfel had brought bows and arrows. Hassan had acquired an antiquated crossbow. One smuggler had a spear. Adam was in the Ainesford militia, and had a pike. Hassan had also contracted the services of a local thug, who, after a bag of silver and a free meal, had been found to be a secret Lenfel sympathizer. The smugglers donned disguises, so they would look like Outlaws. Most wore masks, Fletcher had a tattered black cloak, and Adam carried a Queen’s Dragon shield.
Everyone with weapons was soon in position, and the last smuggler was sent to finish loading the boat.
Soon the squad of Loreesi guards marched into sight, their way lit by flickering torchlight. They stopped at Hassan’s door and pounded on it.
“Open in the name of the King!” their captain commanded.
Hassan’s son appeared from the alleyway to the left of the shop.
“Are you looking for smugglers?” he said, gesturing towards him. “Back here.”
“Go with him,” the captain said, indicating two of his men.
They followed Hassan’s son through the alley, which was made even narrower by creates stacked along the wall. When they reached the dock behind the building, Fletcher and the other archer, crouching on the flat roof, stood and let fly arrows. Fletcher’s aim was deadly, even in the darkness, and one man dropped without a sound. The other soldier was hit, but cried out. Fletcher shot again. Hassan’s son began disposing of the evidence.
Hearing the cry, the three soldiers rushed the alleyway, and were as suddenly surrounded when two more smugglers leapt from hiding behind the building, and the scimitar-wielding thug charged across the street. Fletcher, Hassan, and the other archer each aimed their arrows at a soldier. While the Loreesi guards’ superior training might have prevailed against the men on the ground, they stood no chance against arrows from the rooftop, and had nowhere to run.
“Hold!” cried the guard captain. “Don’t shoot, and we will lay down our arms.”
“And then go for reinforcements?” Fletcher said. “I don’t take prisoners.”
“If you allow us to go free, I will not harm you. I will return and tell my commanding officer that we saw no signs of smuggling activity, and that we were attacked by men dressed as outlaws.”
“And why should we trust you?” Fletcher said.
“I am a man of honor,” the captain declared. “I will not break my word.” He laid down his weapon and his men did likewise. “You would shoot us in cold blood?”
Fletcher thought of his father. His arrow pointed at the lion on the man’s chest, and his bowstring quivered.
“No.” Fletcher slowly released the arrow and released tension on the bow. “If the Loreesi are men of honor, then I am too.” He signaled the smugglers to let the soldiers go.
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This is my entry for Lenfald's 24th Local Challenge.
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A build for Lands of Rowia, a LEGO castle group in which members create a character and then use Lego builds to tell their story in a shared LEGO castle world. LoR also features motivational contests and challenges. We are currently looking for new members, so come on over, pick a faction and join the fun!
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Comments and critique welcome.
in this frozen moment, the machine meets skin. there’s no blood, no pain – just pressure, breath, precision. the tattoo artist leans in, eyes locked on the fine tip, while latex hands control and stretch. the client’s fingers curl, half relaxed, half anticipating the sting. everything is clean, structured, tense – yet there’s intimacy. the monochrome palette strips away distraction and leaves only gesture, focus, and trust. this isn’t just about ink. it’s about the human act of imprinting meaning into flesh.
Good Evening folks, I know it's just after Christmas and money is always limited at this time of year, but if you can help it would be really appreciated.
We are running the London Landmarks Half Marathon for the Teenage Cancer Trust at the end of March.
Most folks will not know that when I was younger I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease, a type of lymphatic cancer. I spent a couple years getting treatment including chemotherapy, radiotherapy and a bone marrow transplant. It was a long and difficult period of my life to go through.
I received a lot of help going through my treatment and one way I would like to give something back is by myself and Suzanne running the London Landmarks Half Marathon for the Teenage Cancer Trust.
I would really appreciate any help with donations you can give, every donation does make a difference.
As an added extra, for everyone who donates at least 10.00 you will be put in to a draw to win a large framed print of my Buachaille Etive Mor at sunrise in Glen Coe image.
Again please donate if you can, it would mean the world to us and help some other young people going through cancer.
Donate just £10 to our @LLHalf fundraising and you could win this HUGE framed print by @BrianKerrPhoto #TeamLegend #FitTogetherAtFifty @TeenageCancer
Would you like to watch closer?
I am so busy actually, that i am not even up to date with commenting your beautiful posts of the last days!! But i watched many!!!
So now i feel the urge to upload a capture, which represents peace, relief, and an absolut stress - free situation :-)))
This is my cat Benjamin, a wild and aggressive street cat in the beginning, who bit me several times and was really dangerous (you can still see a scar at his nose, not to talk about some on my arms :-)) ).
But my constantly talking to him, petting him as much as possible, allowing him to stay, where he felt safe, let him free, when he needed to keep distance, finally tamed him.
Today he loves me wholeheartedly (not yet unconditional, i have to earn it every now and then again ....... haa haa haa ), trusts me (not yet completely, but more or less ;-) ) and tries to stay close to me, whenever possible.
And this touches my heart so deeply - i can see, how much he struggled to overcome his nearly inborn fear of human beings or of being hurt, beaten or rejected.
Isn't this the same with human beings? Being patient and friendly, giving space, when it is needed, hugging, when sadness is around and trying to create a space, where the feeling of safety and shelter can grow - can also tame the ever living fear in human beings of being rejected, being abandoned, being hurt.
Location: Dam Square - Amsterdam, Netherlands
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Technical Specs:
Camera: Canon EOS 400D Digital
Lens: EF70-200mm f/2.8L IS USM
Focal Length: 200 mm
Aperture: F4.0
Shutter: 1/640Sec
ISO: 400
One of my favourite street artists on the Royal Mile. I love a girl who puts such effort into a gorgeous costume - plus I adore mermaids.
On 23 October 1962, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, four U.S. Navy P-3A aircrews from Patrol Squadron 8 (VP-8) and four from VP-44 began enforcing President John F. Kennedy’s blockade of Cuba to prevent Soviet missiles from reaching the island. The P-3 crews patrolled the Atlantic sea lanes to locate and track Soviet cargo ships carrying missiles or launch support equipment. After the crisis ended, a VP-44 crew was photographed flying close surveillance over the Russian freighter Anasov on its return to the Soviet Union. Anasov was the only Russian vessel that refused to uncover the large oblong objects lashed to its deck. The Orion crew was able to verify that the objects were crated missiles, and the ship was allowed to proceed. lockheedmartin.com/codeone
Photo by Alexandre Fernandez
Press L for a better view my friend :-)
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