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Not the most colourful butterfly we saw at Wisley glasshouse, but this Giant Owl butterfly had the most beautiful markings on the underside of its wings. They are found in Mexico, Central and South America apparently and with a wingspan of up to 15cm they were big! The 💜 shaped bokeh just above this beauty sums up my feelings about butterflies perfectly, too :)
A carved stone owl we picked up as a souvenir at the Birds of Prey Centre in Helmsley, North Yorkshire.
Inspired by Ali's awesome Hoolies picture series (www.flickr.com/photos/47632859@N02/36153662442/), I just had to get one myself!
I had to be sneaky, sing the wings of the AV only open when flying, but that makes it next to impossible to move into a position, and sitting on a poseball then flying, closes the wings again.
Processed by: mavenimagery Labs, Universal Studios, Californa.
HDR PROCESSED with IRET (Iris Range Enhancement Technology)
IRET (Iris Range Enhancement Technology and MavenFilters are products of mavenimagery Labs Innovation)
Please read the hilarious true story. Names and some details have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals. This is not the actual building narrated in the story.
Click! Click! Click!
The sound of a four-wheeler engine could be heard faintly from a little distance away.
Click. Click!
Now, the sound of the engine was within a disturbing distance.
Click.
Less than in seconds, the sound was pummeling my eardrums.
Can I help you? Asked the man on the four-wheeler.
Having had heard this question only God knows how many times in my life I knew what it meant: what are you doing in my property? Why are you taking picture of my house, boat, condo, barn, wife, horse, satellite dish, truck, junk, pet, lot, fence, door…and any million of things that exist under the sun whether they belonged to someone private, company, government, nature or God. In this case it was a million dollar castle-like house. My answer, though rarely varies, is always the same, after a long pause and, “not that damn question again! Can’t you people get a bit more creative, that is.
Not unless you know how to take pictures, I said casually.
Are you taking picture of my house?
Yes, sir. I think I am.
Why?
Still adjusting the settings, looking for a different angle, I said, I take pictures of beautiful things. And…I pause, wearing a fake curious expression. “Are you the care-taker? The butler? The reason I’m asking cause even the caretaker or the maid use the expression ‘my house’, like they own the thing…this castle, or whatever.
I’m the owner and you’re trespassing.
That goddamn word hits me right between my eyes every time. That word, after 9/11, that replaced 'Amen' in a pious mind; replaced doubt to trust, love to hate, evil to good, friends to enemies, colors to faces and places...
No, I’m not.
Huh?
I resume. Click! Click!
And can you, please, turn that thing off? I’m not really enjoying this engine noise
I’m paying tax for this, not you.
Good. Uncle Sam must be proud of you.
Do you always go into people’s property and take pictures without asking permission?
Sharks begin swimming in my head. Yes, I said. But we don’t go knocking on people’s door, disrupting their privacy asking for permission.
We?
Professionals! Law-abiding citizens who bear A-Wear-Ness of the law and the privacy of others . Where other’s privacy starts yours ends. The latter is my motto, not in the book.
But you’re trespassing!
The sharks transform into little harmless fish.
I’m not trespassing. See, I point at the white painted wooden fence. You’re on the other side of the fence and I’m on this side. If you’ve had owned this side, here, where I’m standing…hey! Look at where I’m pointing! Here! You’d have built your fence here and not here!
Does Terry know you’re in his property?
A shark tries to push or swallow the little fish in my head, but my brain stops it.
I sigh. Not ‘nless he is a psychic. And who the hell is Terry?
Terry is my brother. You could’ve asked him.
I turn around. I look at the ram-shackle, falling apart barn. Someone lives in there? Ter?—
Terry.
Right. Terry.
You, Mr…?
Ratcliffe. Trey Ratcliffe.
Cute names. Terry and Trey Ratcliffe. And Terry, your brother. Lives. There. In that pig-stile and you live in that castle, right?
Pause.
Friendly, conspiratorial tone. Listen, Mr Ratcliffe. Don’t get all cute and smart ass with me. I don’t know what’s your stash in that shack or in your castle. I’m not a cop. . Excuse the pun Mr Ratcliffe but I couldn’t care a rat’s ass. In this town if you own a house worth a million dollar, you’re stinking-dirty motherfucker. In LA if you own a house worth five mil. And you’re not a celeb actor or sports legend-Tiger-Fucking-woods or the likes, you’re stinking-dirty just the same. What do you do for living? How could you afford this house?
Silence. Mr Ratcliffe only stares, perplexed. Not expecting such an encounter in his present life.
Now, Ima gonna go. I’m losing light. I’m losing the sun.
You’re weird. You’re talking about the sun. What’s your name?
Take the license plate and call the sheriff, Mr Ratcliffe”.
As I drive away, I glance at the side mirror. Mr Ratcliffe driving his four-wheeler like a mad man toward his castle. Good. Call the Sherriff, I mutter to myself.
Almost ten minutes later.
As I look through the view finder, I hear screeching, breaking noise behind me. Then the sound of slamming door of a vehicle.
You’re not going anywhere! barks Mr Ratcliffe, holding a cell phone in his hand. He flips it open and punches the obvious three digits that will be answered by a practiced voice, "911. How can I help you?" routine.
Oh, you again, I say in an indifferent tone. Mr Ratcliffe.
The Chevy truck parked face to face with my Audi, blocking my escaping, so to speak. Mr Ratcliffe is now talking with the Sherriff’s dispatcher, walking back and forth. All I Think is, ‘Finally, you dumb-ass-hillbilly-rat-fuck”.
There is a gentleman here, Mr Ratcliffe’s voice trails off. “Acting very evasive…”
After a few more clicks of another modern-gothic architecture, I walk toward Mr Ratcliffe and I lean closer to the cell phone, making sure the dispatcher on the other end will hear me.
“Stop following me!” I shout. “Stop F....wasting my time!”. He walks away from me and says, “He’s telling me to stop f….waste his time….”
I’m back behind the camera. Several minutes later Mr Ratcliffe finishes his sweet chat, his face ash pale.
They told you to go home, right?
The expression on Mr Ratcliffe turned into crimson red and read, “How the hell did he know that? Who’s this guy?”.
Suddenly, he makes a dart to the truck, yanks the door open and grabs a weapon.
“Didja know that this is a cowboy town, boy?” he snaps, pointing a .44 caliber Winchester rifle at me, his nostrils widens . “Didja?”
“No. Should I ?”
“Well, now you should, pretty boy! You’re talking to a cowboy!”
“Where’re your boots? Your cowboy outfit. You look like one them UPS delivery guys with that stupid shorts”
“Well, that don’t’ madder, cause I have the gun now” a stupid, childish-Billy The Kid smirk.
‘OK” I say in a firm tone, pushing the barrel aside, looking Mr Ratcliffe in the eye. Mr Ratcliffe who turned this whole incident into a personal vendetta; who wanted me on my knees pleading, “I’m sorry, sir. Please don’t hurt me,” and him yelling, “Who’s the bitch now? Who? Who’s the rat?”
“Easy now, Mary,” I say as calm as they come. “Put The rifle away. I don’t have time to play cowboys with you”
A lost, confused, and totally flabbergasted Mr Ratcliffe pivots on his sandaled feet and screams, “Ima shoot your tire!”
I let out a deep sigh. Sharks are taking over small fish rapidly.
You know you can’t do that—‘
Bang! Bang!
The sound was ear-splitting…
Blank cartridge
I launch at Mr Ratcliffe, pushing him against his truck and press my elbow against his neck, pressing CWP Badge over his face.
Gulp!
I take control of my mind and tell the sharks to go swim and hunt somewhere else. Woosharks!
“What’re you doing, man? A friend giving advice to a friend. “There is penal code for this: felony! You can’t follow people, point guns at them. You do serious time for this. Get a grip of your wits you twit! See, I was minding my own business, treating you like a man. But, you couldn’t let it go, could you? You had to pull that territorial-cowboy shit with me”
“You said you ain’t a cop” comes the garbled voice.
“I’m not. This is a protection tool from mindless-rat-fucks like you. It’s a permit to carry gun. See, people get nervous when a gun pointed at them. They reach to their gun and fire back at your miserable-cowboy-ass. You can’t point a gun at anybody. You do at least a year in a pen, that is if you have no prior, which I’m sure you do. Innocent and civilized people don’t act the way you do—
“Your words against mine”
I exhale. “You know what? You’re right. But your neck is against my elbow…do you feel the strength? The suffocating pressure? I could f….break your neck…beat you to death and call the Sherriff, taking my time and break some bones until the police arrives. There is no court of law which could prosecute me in this country. It’s called self-defense. Blank or not you have a weapon—‘
“You’re not gonna hurt me are you?”
“Hurt you? I would protect you against your stupid brains. Now, I’m gonna let you breathe. Are we gonna be cool?”
A slight nod.
“Are we gonna be cool like Fonzie? You know who’s Fonzie is, right?”
A nod.
Note Later, I'd discovered, including one in my family, have had experienced similar incident in this town. A guy coming out and putting the gun into a female real-estate appraisal agent’s head. This town, Oakdale, is on the way to Yosemite and notorious for such aggressive, rude and criminal activities. It rarely, if ever, happens to me since I’m such a nice person:) I get invited for a cup of coffee and sometimes get engaged in a lengthy chat.
Just sitting up there on the tree 😉
Another wonderful carving at Fullerton Woods in Troon!
Stay Safe and Healthy Everyone!
Thanks to everyone who views this photo, adds a note, leaves a comment and of course BIG thanks to anyone who chooses to favourite my photo .... Thanks to you all!
Flynn, standing on the edge... although it's much less of an edgy edge than it perhaps looks in the pic ;-) He was keeping a sharp eye on me, as usual - crouched & ready to spring the second I did anything exciting - like get back up to carry on walking, or failing that, throw a teeny tiny pebble for him to chase. I was feeling pretty tired at this point & not too keen on moving again any time soon, so Flynn spent quite a while scampering round & round the rocks after those teeny pebbles! Flynn's very energetic but at least he's easily entertained.
Haha, poor pup wasn't feeling hugely entertained a few minutes earlier! I've been walking these hills since... well, since I could walk, so more than 30 years but somehow, I got us lost today! Not very lost but still lost enough that Flynn realised that I wasn't completely sure where we were. He always seems to know when I don't know where I'm going! Being a bossy boots border collie, who likes to have a Plan & an Itinerary, Flynn does NOT approve of unscheduled wandering! I did feel like a twit - although in my defence, since our last visit to that particular spot, the conservation group in charge of the area had come along & cut down most (but thankfully not all) of an entire wood, which has rather changed the look of things!! Felling a wood seems a shame & not very conservation-y but the trees (& thick undergrowth which has also been cleared) were on top of an Iron Age hill fort & apparently starting to ruin the historical site.
Anyway, after a few minutes of stumbling down the wrong path & an unexpected detour onto a small road, I came upon familiar ground once more, which was a relief for us both! Just as he knew when we were (just slightly!) lost, Flynn knew we were now Not Lost & quickly went back to the important business of happy--herding (which is different to the "Hooman, you're lost & should go back the way we came" herding, he'd been doing moments earlier!) & pebble chasing. For my part, due to taking the erm, scenic route, I was just happy when I found a place to sit & take a breather before we headed for home.
B/W for March's challenge in 52WfDs
353/365 (3,672)
Out today with Pauls Pix 53. We had intended to go around Battle Abbey (English Heritage), but it was closed. So we went to Bateman's (National Trust) instead.
The temperatures got a bit above 10°C today, whoppy, a heat wave, and the sun came out.
These owls are on a wall at Bateman's.
It began to sink in finally. She wasn’t just “not here”; she was gone.
She was not just away. She was not somewhere else. She was gone.
Then he began to realize that she hadn’t left suddenly. She had left in her mind long ago.
He felt the future melting away. Now he had trouble planning the next minute.
A great grey owl in flight at the Newent bird of prey centre in Gloucestershire. Post production work by the photoshop fairy.
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Allí donde el agua encuentra un remanso en el riu de les Corces, y sobre su espejo limpio refleja el cielo y los escalones de roca labrada en los que los bosques crecen encaramados. Allí, bajo esas aguas de cristal, en su lecho puro, crecen discretamente borlas veladas de verde, que se abren tras la ventana mágica del microscopio como selvas impenetrables, son tallos de Spirogyra.
La enmarañada selva de tallos de seda verde juega con la luz en sus reflejos, y convierte en grumos de oro las espirales que dan la vida y el nombre a estas algas.
Aunque los hilos de Sirogonium y Spirogyra aparezcan hoy rizados en destellos dorados, las dos son algas verdes, de un verde intenso y de cloroplastos trenzados suavemente en la primera y más apretadamente en la segunda, pero siempre en forma de cinta.
En todas ellas esos cloroplastos acintados se disponen enrollados en una perfecta espiral, pegados a la pared de las células cilíndricas y alargadas que los contienen. Además de la clorofila que forma estos cloroplastos trenzados en cintas de bordes aserrados irregularmente, los gránulos de proteína que Spirogyra va fabricando se acumulan formando estos grumos dorados que son los pirenoides, cargados de sustancias de reserva.
Los tallos de Spirogyra crecen, lo hacen siempre en longitud, porque nunca se ramifican. Con frecuencia, y sobre todo en aguas tranquilas o en los remansos de los riachuelos y arroyos pueden aparecer como filamentos flotantes, que junto a otros forman densas marañas verdes y sedosas que asoman como islotes sobre la superficie del agua. En otras ocasiones, como en ésta, si crecen desde el fondo, pueden formar en la base de cada filamento unas finísimas prolongaciones que asemejan delicadas raicillas, pero que únicamente sirven para anclar su alargado cuerpo y evitar que sea arrastrado por la corriente.
El número de cloroplastos acintados que presentan las células de Spirogyra puede variar, dependiendo de la especie, entre uno y dieciséis; de tal manera, que aproximadamente un tercio de todas las especies solo contiene un cloroplasto en cada célula, otro tercio de dos a cinco y el resto presentan de seis a dieciséis.
Hoy dos géneros muy próximos han aparecido en la muestra de estas aguas limpias del riu de les Corces uno con solo un cloroplasto, Spirogyra y otro con siete Sirogonium .
La particular disposición en espiral de los cloroplastos es de una gran belleza, sobre todo cuando se combinan varios y en sus giros dibujan trenzas acuáticas plenas de armonía y de vida, pero además de belleza tiene una gran funcionalidad, pues sea cual sea la posición en la que se sitúe el filamento en horizontal, recibirá siempre la misma cantidad de luz, aunque se gire.
Spirogyra puede vivir en abruptas torrenteras o en pacíficas lagunas, en solitarias turberas de montaña, remansos de ríos, arroyos, fuentes, lagos, pequeños charcos...allí donde haya un poco de agua, los filamentos del alga Spirogyra pueden crecer y formar intrincadas selvas, donde a su abrigo, la vida de muchos otros seres se desarrolla.
Sirogonium es una alga muy especial y esquiva que solo se presenta en zonas de aguas en las que no existe traza de contaminación, como en este recóndito paraíso.
Hoy en el interior de cada filamento de Spirogyra brilla como el oro del Sol el fruto de su trabajo, la vida en sus espirales verdes que en velo casi invisible se trenzan pintando estos ríos limpios que todavía son un paraíso
En su largo y accidentado viaje por el riu de les Corces las selvas de Spirogyra han encontrado un remanso de paz junto a las ruinas del antiguo puente que un día de aguas enfurecidas la riada se llevó cerca de Vallibona, allí están bajo otra selva hermosa y allí las hemos encontrado durante la celebración del VIII Testing de Els Ports
La imagen, tomada por Isabel López de Munain y Antonio Guillén a 400 aumentos con la técnica de contraste de interferencia, procede de una muestra recogida el 25 de junio de 2016 en el riu de les Corces junto a la maset de l'Ollet en Vallibona en ¡¡ Testing Power !! :)
Gracias de corazón por estos días inolvidables a todos con quienes hemos tenido la suerte de compartir estas jornadas, a Jacint Cerdà, a todos los amigos de BV y al Ayuntamiento de Vallibona.
TWIT
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This print has been created for SOMA Gallery's December 2010 exhibition. It is a 2 colour silk screen print of a sleepy owl and a brave mouse.
Signed and numbered edition of 20
Size: 210mm x 297mm
Stock: white recycled card
This print is currently available for £20 from Soma Gallery