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Just when it seemed like spring was very close, Mother Nature had other plans and, suddenly, the world was transformed to a snowy wonderland. Even though this snow was unwelcome, I still couldn't help but be thrilled as the snowflakes blanketed my backyard in silent white.
"A snow day literally and figuratively falls from the sky - unbidden - and seems like a thing of wonder."
~ Susan Orlean
To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion, to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly, to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart, to bear all cheerfully, to all bravely await occasions, hurry never. In a word, to let the spiritual unbidden and unconscious grow up through the common. This is to be my symphony. — William Henry Channing
Thank you Lawrence for inviting me to participate in this wonderful campaign! ♥
Let me sing with you tonight.
Let me join my voice to yours.
We'll harmonize, you stroke the keys
as deftly as you have led me.
I follow, unbidden- trusting fall
Into your arms or by your side.
I'll sing with you or not at all.
Our song demands we harmonize.
There's no one else I'd duet with.
This song was made for us to sing.
Winter has come calling to my town with snow and bitter cold, but still somehow magical, ... for awhile at least, lol!
"A snow day literally and figuratively falls from the sky,
unbidden, and seems like a thing of wonder." ~ Susan Orlean
Amsterdam - Albert Cuypstraat
Copyright - All images are copyright © protected. All Rights Reserved. Copying, altering, displaying or redistribution of any of these images without written permission from the artist is strictly prohibited
A view of our city harbour from Mornington on a walk this afternoon. And a poem by Derek Moore:
Everything is Going to be All Right
“How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
The sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.”
Wandering through Whimberly, I saw the scarecrow and felt the sudden impulse to dance with it. While I started making a pose, thoughts of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers came unbidden to my head. Their dances together were things of beauty. And what would be more iconic than their dance routine from Top Hat? It was a bit hard to find a YouTube clip that included the entire dance routine; enjoy the magic:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILxo-TUkzOQ&t=174s
Waltz the clip forward to the 1:57 mark if you want to skip Fred's singing and just want the dance routine.
FOCUS SEABROOK 100K CONTEST - PORTRAITS
Location: @ BBBB-Studio SL
(An exercise in diagonals)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Garland of Flowers
-Lulu Gee-
‘Neath skies that remember
the fall of my feet,
from now ‘til September
through amorous heat,
as warmer days harden
and red blushes gold
a-bloom in the garden
pale lustres take hold.
A garland of flowers
this morning for you,
a glisten from showers
soft yellow and blue
as dawn gloried cover
for rose to unfold,
like lover to lover
seek warmth from the cold.
The blossoms I gather,
this poem I rhyme
come sooner than later
to perish in time -
my rhymes like the flowers
unbidden I strew,
these restless spent hours
I offer to you!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This album's name is dedicated to my favourite game of all time Elder Scrolls Online and race of all time, The Argonians (reptile humanoids). There's a story for you to read below about some of them towards the bottom.
What does Ku Vastei mean? Read below
By Lights-the-Way, Mystic of the Mages Guild
It is hard to describe the culture of my people. Often my tongue stumbles as I try to explain, but it is my hope that ink and quill will give me time enough to gather my thoughts. And perhaps, though such writing, I will finally connect the parts of me that now feel so divided; my homeland of Murkmire and my new life within the Mages Guild.
These journals are to become my ku-vastei. And, as I write that, I can think of no better topic to begin with.
Ku-vastei roughly translates to "the catalyst of needed change," though such a direct translation in no way does justice to the original meaning. Another translation could be "that which creates the needed pathway for change to occur" or even "the spark which ignites the flame which must come into being."
Perhaps a more direct analysis should be first presented. Ku-vastei is a noun, a thing or person. Vastei directly translates to change, an important part of my culture. Ku is harder to speak of. It is that which leads to change, though not that which creates change. An important role, as stagnation is a fate worse than death.
Take a boulder which sits atop a cliff, teetering in place. It must fall eventually. The ku-vastei does not push the boulder off the cliff; rather, it picks the pebble which holds the rock in place. And so it falls, not by a push, but by a pathway cleared.
Ku-vastei is revered, just as change itself is revered, for to look back at what was means to stumble as you move forward. Sometimes, a little push in the right direction is all someone needs to remember such wisdom. Other times, they may need to be shoved.
-------------------------------------
The Gee-Rusleel Tribe
by Emmanubeth Hurrent, the Wayfarers' Society of Wayrest
I've had the privilege to speak to two different Miredancer elders now, and I've learned a great deal from both of these conversations. The "Gee-Rusleel," as they call themselves, are among the most introspective Argonians I've met in my travels. They also tend to be the most pleasant. For all their reclusiveness and wariness, I've never met a people more willing to share a meal or a game of Shells and Stones. They are skilled crafters, with a particular knack for working with Hist amber and egg shells. They are also peerless navigators, guiding their flat-bottom boats effortlessly through the swamp, master weavers, and skilled cartographers.
The most defining characteristic of the Miredancer tribe, however, is piety. This deep reverence for the Hist has earned them the right to name a "Sap-Speaker" for countless generations.
According to the elders I spoke with, the Sap-Speaker is the Hist's direct intermediary. (This is, of course, subject to debate. Many tribes boast unique methods of communion with the Hist. But as far as I have seen, the Miredancers make the most compelling case for the methods they use.) Sap-Speakers often go into seclusion for days or even weeks on end, venturing either down into the roots or high into the canopy of leaves in the uppermost branches. Here, they commune with the Hist. Indeed, the word that one of the elders used was "journey."
These journeys into the Hist tax the Sap-Speakers, but are thoroughly private affairs. After days by themselves, the Sap-Speakers emerge to hide away with old books, scrolls, and tablets. I asked after the purpose of these periods of seclusion, and this is what the elders told me. "The Sap-Speaker enters the embrace of the Hist to learn from the great tree," one elder said. "While in close contact with the roots and branches, the Sap-Speaker receives visions and other forms of communication that neither you nor I would understand."
The other elder continued. "Even the Sap-Speaker finds some of what is shown to be mystifying and confusing. I have heard that a Sap-Speaker is treated to ancient metaphors, arcane secrets, and visions that make little sense to creatures so far removed from sap and pulp." Apparently, the second period of seclusion allows the Sap-Speaker time to reflect on what he or she was shown, as well as time to consult with the ancient writings of Sap-Speakers who came before. After a suitable period of study and reflection, the Sap-Speaker emerges to reveal the Hist's will to the tribe.
I attempted to get more information about what happens while the Sap-Speaker meditates among the roots or branches, but I'm not sure the elders knew much more. They did tell me that the only nourishment the Sap-Speaker receives during these periods of seclusion is provided by the Hist itself in the form of sap, leaves, and the otherwise forbidden fruit of the tree.
There is a price to pay for the gift of Hist communion, however. Ingesting large quantities of Hist sap is a dangerous affair, even for Argonians. Sap-Speakers routinely suffer the effects of sap-poisoning, including "gold tongue" (permanent change of mouth pigmentation to a golden hue), unbidden hallucinations, "bark-scale" (thickening and darkening of surface scales), and other maladies they were reticent to talk about. The current Sap-Speaker, Thumarz, was in seclusion during my visit to the tribal village. I hope to meet him someday. If he's half as wise as the elders I interacted with, I'd no doubt learn a great deal from him.
Despite their deeply religious nature, the Miredancers also seem to have an obsession with games of all types. They are particularly fond of the games Nine-Shells and Shells and Stones, as well as sports such as the popular "teeba-hatsei" (also known as "hip and tail ball.") In addition to lovingly explaining their own games, they wanted to know everything I could tell them about the games we play back in Wayrest. I must admit, their enthusiasm was quite infectious! And I found it highly amusing to watch them try to re-create Deceiver's Bones from the vague description I provided.
The Miredancers are also inveterate gamblers, but they often forget to collect their winnings. Unlike the games of men and mer, Miredancer competitions appear to be completely devoid of malice or injured pride. Victory and defeat seem more like afterthoughts than objectives, due in no small part to their phlegmatic disposition. As in most things, their focus is strictly on the moment—the now. It pains me to leave their village, but I still have many more tribes to study. I doubt any of them will be as fascinating or as friendly as the Miredancers.
["the tribe is not currently in the game but in the world of the game"]
Whenever I wake up and see hoarfrost, I leap into action. This phenomenon is uncommon, occurring only a few times each year. It transforms the ordinary into something breathtakingly beautiful.
We're looking at the border hills, in the remote southern part of Grasslands Park - as far south as the roads go. From here, the traveller is on foot, and it isn't far to the Montana border. Three miles? I'm guessing. Certainly not much more.
The Frenchman River runs through that big valley in the middle distance, flowing right to left (north to south). I can't see it in this shot, so perhaps the near ridges have blocked it from view. Last summer and fall I hiked along the river, on two occasions, through the wild prairie landscape that always uplifts me when I submit to its charm and stop worrying about whether I'm getting great photos. That concern, after all, is just another distraction. Push too hard and something unknown pushes back, as if to suggest there's a better way. Open yourself to simply being present, and images will stream toward you unbidden. This has been my experience, and why I usually do better work in a receptive - not aggressive - state of mind. Aggression works well for football photographers and paparazzi, but it will only carry you so far in nature. Btw, I photographed a lot of football back in my younger days...
This is still a "transition season" image; most of the snow melted away, and has since be replaced by new snow. It's obviously weighted toward the winter side of the transition. As I sit at my monitor, it's very cold outside and my furnace is going strong. Definitely winter. But I have a week of "transition season wildlife" to share before moving on to something else.
* The map is lying again. This is Canada. I am certain.
Photographed in Grasslands National Park, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission ©2022 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
The endless crash of falling sea,
The plaintive mew of seagulls,
The bitter taste of salt on lips,
And all those memories unbidden
Better Viewed Large
Just a very lucky glance down to the lake as I was leaving the parking area revealed this lovely family scene. Two baby mergansers riding on mom's back. There was no way to get down to eye level, so I just fired away from the driver's seat. When looking for wildlife, expect the unexpected, and accept all gifts that arrive unbidden - such as this!
I thought I had a Red-breasted Merganser, but the faint whitish chin patch suggests Common, so I'll have to go with that!
I'm very late posting today. Last night a huge storm went through and caused a widespread brown out: no power for 15 hours. I got up this morning, made coffee on my camp stove, decided to take a run out to the park, where I was rewarded for my efforts. Much culling and processing to do. Meanwhile, I will continue working through my huge backlog of recent photos,.
Tomorrow: another bird from this same location.
Photographed at Huff Lake, in the Frenchman River Valley, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission ©2025 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
Amsterdam - Parnassusweg
Copyright - All images are copyright © protected. All Rights Reserved. Copying, altering, displaying or redistribution of any of these images without written permission from the artist is strictly prohibited.
font: Redstar
textures and effects by Remember Remember
See more in my Texture set here
See more in my Open road set here
Charles Beaudelaire
Laden with shining arms the men-folk tread
By the long wagons where their goods lie hidden;
They watch the heaven with eyes grown wearied
Of hopeless dreams that come to them unbidden.
"Summer breeze makes me feel fine. Blowin' through the Jasmine in my mind.”
- George Benson
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=wO_LcE9c57Q
SUMMER NIGHTS – MARIANNE FAITHFULL
Summer Jasmine smells heavenly
it's rose-pink array of flowers
attracts the bees and keeps them busy
they buzz and play for hours and hours
I listen intently to their soothing hum
they drone away; make me feel drowsy
I dream of sweet and pleasant things
and wake to find the sky is cloudy
like old-fashioned English lemonade
and sea mist that rolls unbidden
up into the garden and across the lawns
it's secrets carefully hidden
I dangle a hand and stroke the grass
and camomile lawns so fresh and sweet
a hazy, lazy day filled with daisies
buttercups and meadowsweet
marsh orchids settle now and then
but rarely in the same place twice
and little snow white wood anenomes
hide beneath the tamerisk covered in wood lice
I open one eye and shield it from the sky
with the other free hand like a sailor
who dances and skips in a Hornpipe twist
and shouts “land ahoy” like a Jack Tar
a foghorn sounds to an approaching ship
and the lighthouse lights up early
the seagulls cry out their mournful song
their wings glistening white and pearly
the sun begins it's slow descent
to warm a far-off and distant land
and looking down now, both eyes open
I see a ladybird tickling my hand
I set her down gently on the Summer Jasmine
the bees are tiring and slowing
they fly away to make their honey
as the chill of the night air flowing
sweeps in and swirls around my ankles
amid the mists of time
and I am left relaxed; replete
rejuvenated by this perfect day of mine.
- AP - Copyright © remains with and is the intellectual property of the author
Copyright © protected image please do not reproduce without permission .
This image is a compilation of 2 of my photographs, 1 of which was the rose-tint.
This album's name is dedicated to my favourite game of all time Elder Scrolls Online and race of all time, The Argonians (reptile humanoids). There's a story for you to read below about some of them towards the bottom.
What does Ku Vastei mean? Read below
By Lights-the-Way, Mystic of the Mages Guild
It is hard to describe the culture of my people. Often my tongue stumbles as I try to explain, but it is my hope that ink and quill will give me time enough to gather my thoughts. And perhaps, though such writing, I will finally connect the parts of me that now feel so divided; my homeland of Murkmire and my new life within the Mages Guild.
These journals are to become my ku-vastei. And, as I write that, I can think of no better topic to begin with.
Ku-vastei roughly translates to "the catalyst of needed change," though such a direct translation in no way does justice to the original meaning. Another translation could be "that which creates the needed pathway for change to occur" or even "the spark which ignites the flame which must come into being."
Perhaps a more direct analysis should be first presented. Ku-vastei is a noun, a thing or person. Vastei directly translates to change, an important part of my culture. Ku is harder to speak of. It is that which leads to change, though not that which creates change. An important role, as stagnation is a fate worse than death.
Take a boulder which sits atop a cliff, teetering in place. It must fall eventually. The ku-vastei does not push the boulder off the cliff; rather, it picks the pebble which holds the rock in place. And so it falls, not by a push, but by a pathway cleared.
Ku-vastei is revered, just as change itself is revered, for to look back at what was means to stumble as you move forward. Sometimes, a little push in the right direction is all someone needs to remember such wisdom. Other times, they may need to be shoved.
-------------------------------------
The Gee-Rusleel Tribe
by Emmanubeth Hurrent, the Wayfarers' Society of Wayrest
I've had the privilege to speak to two different Miredancer elders now, and I've learned a great deal from both of these conversations. The "Gee-Rusleel," as they call themselves, are among the most introspective Argonians I've met in my travels. They also tend to be the most pleasant. For all their reclusiveness and wariness, I've never met a people more willing to share a meal or a game of Shells and Stones. They are skilled crafters, with a particular knack for working with Hist amber and egg shells. They are also peerless navigators, guiding their flat-bottom boats effortlessly through the swamp, master weavers, and skilled cartographers.
The most defining characteristic of the Miredancer tribe, however, is piety. This deep reverence for the Hist has earned them the right to name a "Sap-Speaker" for countless generations.
According to the elders I spoke with, the Sap-Speaker is the Hist's direct intermediary. (This is, of course, subject to debate. Many tribes boast unique methods of communion with the Hist. But as far as I have seen, the Miredancers make the most compelling case for the methods they use.) Sap-Speakers often go into seclusion for days or even weeks on end, venturing either down into the roots or high into the canopy of leaves in the uppermost branches. Here, they commune with the Hist. Indeed, the word that one of the elders used was "journey."
These journeys into the Hist tax the Sap-Speakers, but are thoroughly private affairs. After days by themselves, the Sap-Speakers emerge to hide away with old books, scrolls, and tablets. I asked after the purpose of these periods of seclusion, and this is what the elders told me. "The Sap-Speaker enters the embrace of the Hist to learn from the great tree," one elder said. "While in close contact with the roots and branches, the Sap-Speaker receives visions and other forms of communication that neither you nor I would understand."
The other elder continued. "Even the Sap-Speaker finds some of what is shown to be mystifying and confusing. I have heard that a Sap-Speaker is treated to ancient metaphors, arcane secrets, and visions that make little sense to creatures so far removed from sap and pulp." Apparently, the second period of seclusion allows the Sap-Speaker time to reflect on what he or she was shown, as well as time to consult with the ancient writings of Sap-Speakers who came before. After a suitable period of study and reflection, the Sap-Speaker emerges to reveal the Hist's will to the tribe.
I attempted to get more information about what happens while the Sap-Speaker meditates among the roots or branches, but I'm not sure the elders knew much more. They did tell me that the only nourishment the Sap-Speaker receives during these periods of seclusion is provided by the Hist itself in the form of sap, leaves, and the otherwise forbidden fruit of the tree.
There is a price to pay for the gift of Hist communion, however. Ingesting large quantities of Hist sap is a dangerous affair, even for Argonians. Sap-Speakers routinely suffer the effects of sap-poisoning, including "gold tongue" (permanent change of mouth pigmentation to a golden hue), unbidden hallucinations, "bark-scale" (thickening and darkening of surface scales), and other maladies they were reticent to talk about. The current Sap-Speaker, Thumarz, was in seclusion during my visit to the tribal village. I hope to meet him someday. If he's half as wise as the elders I interacted with, I'd no doubt learn a great deal from him.
Despite their deeply religious nature, the Miredancers also seem to have an obsession with games of all types. They are particularly fond of the games Nine-Shells and Shells and Stones, as well as sports such as the popular "teeba-hatsei" (also known as "hip and tail ball.") In addition to lovingly explaining their own games, they wanted to know everything I could tell them about the games we play back in Wayrest. I must admit, their enthusiasm was quite infectious! And I found it highly amusing to watch them try to re-create Deceiver's Bones from the vague description I provided.
The Miredancers are also inveterate gamblers, but they often forget to collect their winnings. Unlike the games of men and mer, Miredancer competitions appear to be completely devoid of malice or injured pride. Victory and defeat seem more like afterthoughts than objectives, due in no small part to their phlegmatic disposition. As in most things, their focus is strictly on the moment—the now. It pains me to leave their village, but I still have many more tribes to study. I doubt any of them will be as fascinating or as friendly as the Miredancers.
["the tribe is not currently in the game but in the world of the game"]
LONE Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they
But hardier far, once more I see thee bend
Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,
Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day,
Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay
The rising sun, and on the plains descend;
Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend
Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May
Shall soon behold this border thickly set
With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing
On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers;
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,
Chaste Snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring,
And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
William Wordsworth
Schloss Philippsruhe, Hanau, Hesse, Germany
The black pattern on the pavement was caused by the shadow of a massive wrought-iron gilded entrance gate behind me, protecting the castle of "unbidden guests" outside the opening hours. I liked the pattern in conjunction with this beautiful(ly illuminated) castle and fountain hence the reason why I made it a part of this picture.
"The impressive baroque palace was built in 1725 in Hanau Kesselstadt on behalf of the Hanau Count Philipp Reinhard. Its present appearance can be traced back to conversions during the founding time. The premises now house the Historical Museum. The surrounding landscape park was originally designed as a baroque garden, but was renovated in the English style in the 19th century. The popular Brothers Grimm Festival takes place every year at the edge of the park in a newly designed amphitheatre. A highlight of the castle is the so called white hall. In the first years of the 18th century these rooms were used to house the cold-sensitive orange and lemon trees. Today the white hall offers sufficient space to host an opulent banquet at major celebrations such as weddings, birthdays or anniversaries, to function as a ballroom or to provide a dignified setting for meetings."
I rise each day
And its just the same
I see an unending sorrow
Ploughing that same furrow
Call me
Call my name
You keep looking for false dawns
You find it hard to look beyond
I have tried to write this so many times
It didn’t want to be written
Life kept fighting my lines
But while the blood flows
Into my cup unbidden
Even though I can hardly speak
My voice feels like it has been stolen
I know this cup is the only thing that matters
No point trying to cajole or flatter
I always treated that with suspicion
Just keep me on your table
Remember me if you are able
Let this be a new dawn
Where I am no longer a pawn
Dodging things I foresworn
Yet can no longer keep
*****
So many of us wish that life could be different for us and often with good reason. In our so-called modern times there is a harshness that seems to have settled over us.
But now is the time for us to look deeply within, and find what truly matters to us, be that faith, family, loved ones or all of these things. Sometimes our daily lives might be devoid of purpose, or we feel are bowed down with responsibilities, and seeking help is difficult.
But within all this, a light can be found. We need to seek out ways that will uphold us and give us joy. Each of us is different, but letting go of things that cannot be changed is a start. This way, new opportunities can arise, that bring peace of mind.
This image was taken in Ripe Church in East Sussex, UK. I placed this Cup from my collection onto the flagstones set in the floor, and the light streamed through a window and lit up the Cup.
As with all of my images, there is no AI involved. This is just taken by me and my camera, with my chalice cup and the beauty of the light. Why would I need anything more, because the song is in the experience, as they say.
I have paired this work with Hans Zimmer’s “Chevaliers de Sangreal” which was featured in the Da Vinci Code film, which sparked all sorts of controversy and counterclaims…which I have taken with a pinch of salt…which helps to keep demons at bay after all. But the music...the music is divine.
But in the end, the cup for me is a conduit to enable the Holy Spirit to enter, or to surround where I happen to be…but I have always loved this piece of music for the soaring quality it has, the love it encompasses, and that is enough for me.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAL6sGxOWEs
And if you would like to see more of my work, have a look at my website at:
Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love… the clarity of hatred… and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace… but we would be hollow… Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we’d be truly dead.”
— Joss Whedon
by Laura Matesky. Please do not use this or any of my images without my permission.
SEEKING VALIDATION.
A Meditation on Life’s Journey.
Navigating through life is more a matter of asking the right questions to the answers you seek.
Not all answers give the complete truth, if that question is vague or hesitant.
Often considering the question in full before asking opens up doors to inner truths that you were withholding from yourself.
The answer will come unbidden, all you have to do is recognise that truth.
I thought I was done for the day; at least done with ice photos. I'd just made a very good shot - knew it was good, could feel it was good - and had turned toward the beaten snow path of a deer trail to leave, and happened to glance down one last time. And saw this.
When that happens, when an image comes to you unbidden, unforced, without effort... you'd better not ignore it. After a certain time in the field, we all get image fatigue. The well dries up. "What else can I possibly do here?" we ask, and come up blank. Nothing. I'm done. If you reach that state and an image jumps out at you from somewhere, accept it as a gift, perhaps from your subconscious, and don't argue or discount its value.
I set up my tripod one more time, shooting straight down with a macro lens and a small f-stop. It is similar to a thousand other ice macro shots I've made along this river over the past decade, yet unique in its configuration of lines and shapes and textures and light. There's a certain tranquility here. It may not make it into my "Best of 2020" folder, but I walked away feeling better for having taken the time to get this shot, and sometimes that is the key - it's more about process than result. Because if I had been in too great a hurry to go on to something else, it would have nagged me for the rest of that day. What if, what if? Did I miss something good? Did a big one get away?
"You learn to see by practice. It’s just like playing tennis, you get better the more you play. The more you look around at things, the more you see. The more you photograph, the more you realize what can be photographed and what can’t be photographed. You just have to keep doing it."
– Eliot Porter
Photographed in Grasslands National Park, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission ©2020 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
The Shed at Old Warden is a famously mysterious structure whose exact age and function is unclear. Some say that it is a portal to a parallel universe, others that it is houses the infinite number of expendable volunteers used to hold up the bunting for planes, such as the one in the picture, to fly under. What is known with certainty, however, is that it has the uncanny ability to appear unbidden and unexpectedly in a great number of otherwise fine aeroplane photographs.
The DHC-1 Chipmunk is 1940's trainer used by many air forces around the world, including that of Canada whose national markings it carries, and remains a popular aircraft for private pilots.
The white square visible on the grass below the aircraft is the target for flour bombing attempts by this and 3 other barnstorming aircraft. As the announcer told us, 'The safest place to be standing in the entire airfield during the flour-bombing is on the target itself - they never manage a direct hit', and he was right!
Even the everyday flower the crops up unbidden along the sidewalk or at the edge of a woodland trail, has an elegant structure and a beauty that is not diminished by being commonplace. All that diminishes is our ability to notice. And that is renewable.
— Theodore Tollefson @thetollart
A snow day literally and figuratively falls from the sky, unbidden, and seems like a thing of wonder.
Susan Orlean (American journalist, *1955)
Winter has finally arrived the day before yesterday and I could finally roam around with my camera before the snowfall got too heavy. Today it is -5°C/ 23 F, still snowing (heavily) and I am waiting for the snowfall to lessen so that I can go out again.
Have a wonderful Sunday, and thanks for stopping by!
To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not, rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common - this is my symphony. William Ellery Channing
~happy symphonic fence friday~
"A snow day literally and figuratively falls from the sky, unbidden, and seems like a thing of wonder."
-- Susan Orlean (American journalist, television writer, and bestselling author)
Three bracketed photos were taken with a handheld Nikon D7200 and combined with Photomatix Pro to create this HDR image. Additional adjustments were made in Photoshop CS6.
"For I know the plans I have for you", declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." ~Jeremiah 29:11
The best way to view my photostream is through Flickriver with the following link: www.flickriver.com/photos/photojourney57/
“this is how I feel … “ - Natalie Imbruglia, Torn
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=VV1XWJN3nJo
TORN – NATALIE IMBRUGLIA
Most of the words today are my own but a few, the most important ones to my heart, are from his … je suis désolé mon ange ...
What happens when two angels meet
when worlds collide; fall to their feet
wings entangled; words that fail
to understand love must prevail ...
The pain I felt keenly
like an arrow to my heart
the blood spilled red like a Poppy
a blue eye watched me depart
two white wings above me
were now uncertain
perhaps they were beyond me
lain forever broken;
slain; an horrific love token
fragments; slivers
spine-creeping shivers
leave me cold
leave me alone
can't you see
I am chilled to the bone
the pain took me by surprise
a mortal wound that closed my eyes
tears threatened but I shut them down
I am torn
I am worn
I am everybody's clown
the tears of a clown …
are they real
or do they steal
that which mortals seek
a momentary lapse
the words I didn't speak
just a rhyme
just a mime
gestures of my hands
cannot be seen in far-off lands
nuances; subtle intonations
can't be heard; no vibrations
shutting down; human sensations
this world is not for me
this world that blinds; I cannot see
which way to go
I can't go back
I can't go on
I love and lack
the subtleties that make us human
I am different; let's assume then
that everything we think we know
is nothing but a trick
a trick of the light
an imagined fight
so why does my stomach feel so sick
unexpected feelings rise
unbidden; I see doubt in eyes
and this doubt is in me too
I really don't know what to do
to stay
to go
goodbye
adieu?
au revoir
à bientôt
I love you
je t'aime
j'adore
do you love me anymore?
what will I do?
what will you do?
when I am gone
when I am no more
mon ami
mon amour.
- AP - Copyright © remains with and is the intellectual property of the author
Copyright © protected image please do not reproduce without permission
“to live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not, rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common - this is my symphony...."
~ william ellery channing
casablanca; quote evoked unbidden by my surroundings. d0gwalker, see, I really did run off to casablanca :)
for more images in the vrbs series click here
I saw this striking advertisement for the National Portrait Gallery in Trafalgar Square, London, and thought I’d hang around for someone interesting to walk past. Totally unbidden, this boy came along and stood right in front of it (he was looking at a protest on the right) - I couldn’t have asked for someone to stand in a better place!
When you come to me, unbidden,
Beckoning me
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.
Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,
I CRY.
Maya Angelou
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Witherwood%20Thicket/225/7...
“Do you remember the unbidden summer rain
Washing the dew from mulberries away?
Can you forget the scent of honey over fields,
And those amber-colored acorns beads…
And crowds of singing motley birds
Around the foggy, misty lake?
That’s where our childhood mirth
Will be remained as a fairy-tale…”
― Sahara Sanders, Gods’ Food
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He sat at the desk,
pen heavy in his hand,
as though the paper were waiting to accuse him.
He cleared his throat,
leaned forward, and began:
“I was born beneath a restless sky”
No, that is too grand,
already puffed up with thunder.
“This morning the window would not open.”
Too small. Too dull.
Nothing breathes there.
“Time slipped, and I was left holding its shadow.”
More interesting, maybe, but still a trick,
still posturing.
He scratched out each line,
the desk littered with corpses of beginnings.
The poem refused to move.
And then,
without effort,
without even his will behind it,
a line arrived:
“Poetry is in the silence before a single word is written.”
He stopped.
Read it again, slowly,
as though afraid it might vanish.
A smile rose, unbidden, as he put down his pen and listened.
"To live content with small means;
to seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion,
to be worthy, not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich;
to study hard, think quietly,
talk gently, act frankly,
to listen to stars and birds,
to babes and sages,
with open heart,
to bear all cheerfully,
to all bravely await occasions,
hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual unbidden
and unconscious grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony."
— William Henry Channing
To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not, rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common - this is my symphony. William Ellery Channing
~happy symphonic fence friday~
This album's name is dedicated to my favourite game of all time Elder Scrolls Online and race of all time, The Argonians (reptile humanoids). There's a story for you to read below about some of them towards the bottom.
What does Ku Vastei mean? Read below
By Lights-the-Way, Mystic of the Mages Guild
It is hard to describe the culture of my people. Often my tongue stumbles as I try to explain, but it is my hope that ink and quill will give me time enough to gather my thoughts. And perhaps, though such writing, I will finally connect the parts of me that now feel so divided; my homeland of Murkmire and my new life within the Mages Guild.
These journals are to become my ku-vastei. And, as I write that, I can think of no better topic to begin with.
Ku-vastei roughly translates to "the catalyst of needed change," though such a direct translation in no way does justice to the original meaning. Another translation could be "that which creates the needed pathway for change to occur" or even "the spark which ignites the flame which must come into being."
Perhaps a more direct analysis should be first presented. Ku-vastei is a noun, a thing or person. Vastei directly translates to change, an important part of my culture. Ku is harder to speak of. It is that which leads to change, though not that which creates change. An important role, as stagnation is a fate worse than death.
Take a boulder which sits atop a cliff, teetering in place. It must fall eventually. The ku-vastei does not push the boulder off the cliff; rather, it picks the pebble which holds the rock in place. And so it falls, not by a push, but by a pathway cleared.
Ku-vastei is revered, just as change itself is revered, for to look back at what was means to stumble as you move forward. Sometimes, a little push in the right direction is all someone needs to remember such wisdom. Other times, they may need to be shoved.
-------------------------------------
The Gee-Rusleel Tribe
by Emmanubeth Hurrent, the Wayfarers' Society of Wayrest
I've had the privilege to speak to two different Miredancer elders now, and I've learned a great deal from both of these conversations. The "Gee-Rusleel," as they call themselves, are among the most introspective Argonians I've met in my travels. They also tend to be the most pleasant. For all their reclusiveness and wariness, I've never met a people more willing to share a meal or a game of Shells and Stones. They are skilled crafters, with a particular knack for working with Hist amber and egg shells. They are also peerless navigators, guiding their flat-bottom boats effortlessly through the swamp, master weavers, and skilled cartographers.
The most defining characteristic of the Miredancer tribe, however, is piety. This deep reverence for the Hist has earned them the right to name a "Sap-Speaker" for countless generations.
According to the elders I spoke with, the Sap-Speaker is the Hist's direct intermediary. (This is, of course, subject to debate. Many tribes boast unique methods of communion with the Hist. But as far as I have seen, the Miredancers make the most compelling case for the methods they use.) Sap-Speakers often go into seclusion for days or even weeks on end, venturing either down into the roots or high into the canopy of leaves in the uppermost branches. Here, they commune with the Hist. Indeed, the word that one of the elders used was "journey."
These journeys into the Hist tax the Sap-Speakers, but are thoroughly private affairs. After days by themselves, the Sap-Speakers emerge to hide away with old books, scrolls, and tablets. I asked after the purpose of these periods of seclusion, and this is what the elders told me. "The Sap-Speaker enters the embrace of the Hist to learn from the great tree," one elder said. "While in close contact with the roots and branches, the Sap-Speaker receives visions and other forms of communication that neither you nor I would understand."
The other elder continued. "Even the Sap-Speaker finds some of what is shown to be mystifying and confusing. I have heard that a Sap-Speaker is treated to ancient metaphors, arcane secrets, and visions that make little sense to creatures so far removed from sap and pulp." Apparently, the second period of seclusion allows the Sap-Speaker time to reflect on what he or she was shown, as well as time to consult with the ancient writings of Sap-Speakers who came before. After a suitable period of study and reflection, the Sap-Speaker emerges to reveal the Hist's will to the tribe.
I attempted to get more information about what happens while the Sap-Speaker meditates among the roots or branches, but I'm not sure the elders knew much more. They did tell me that the only nourishment the Sap-Speaker receives during these periods of seclusion is provided by the Hist itself in the form of sap, leaves, and the otherwise forbidden fruit of the tree.
There is a price to pay for the gift of Hist communion, however. Ingesting large quantities of Hist sap is a dangerous affair, even for Argonians. Sap-Speakers routinely suffer the effects of sap-poisoning, including "gold tongue" (permanent change of mouth pigmentation to a golden hue), unbidden hallucinations, "bark-scale" (thickening and darkening of surface scales), and other maladies they were reticent to talk about. The current Sap-Speaker, Thumarz, was in seclusion during my visit to the tribal village. I hope to meet him someday. If he's half as wise as the elders I interacted with, I'd no doubt learn a great deal from him.
Despite their deeply religious nature, the Miredancers also seem to have an obsession with games of all types. They are particularly fond of the games Nine-Shells and Shells and Stones, as well as sports such as the popular "teeba-hatsei" (also known as "hip and tail ball.") In addition to lovingly explaining their own games, they wanted to know everything I could tell them about the games we play back in Wayrest. I must admit, their enthusiasm was quite infectious! And I found it highly amusing to watch them try to re-create Deceiver's Bones from the vague description I provided.
The Miredancers are also inveterate gamblers, but they often forget to collect their winnings. Unlike the games of men and mer, Miredancer competitions appear to be completely devoid of malice or injured pride. Victory and defeat seem more like afterthoughts than objectives, due in no small part to their phlegmatic disposition. As in most things, their focus is strictly on the moment—the now. It pains me to leave their village, but I still have many more tribes to study. I doubt any of them will be as fascinating or as friendly as the Miredancers.
["the tribe is not currently in the game but in the world of the game"]
font: Metropolis
textures and effects by Remember Remember
John Clare
Remembrances
Summer pleasures they are gone like to visions every one
And the cloudy days of autumn and of winter cometh on
I tried to call them back but unbidden they are gone
"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich, to study hard, to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common – this is my symphony."
William Henry Channing (150 years ago)
48/52
“The wait is long, my dream of you does not end.” - Nuala O'Faolain
listen: www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKSbQ5lvlyQ
[A very personal piece, shot in the most magical place I have ever visited to date. Ballysaggartmore Towers in Ireland. This particular segment of the towers is about half a mile into beautiful, lush woods, which were sprinkled with bluebells when my friends and I were there a few weeks ago. Between the towers was a bridge spanning over a small, delicate creek, and just up the way, a lovely moss-laden waterfall smiled down at the towers.
I've dreamt of castles deep in forests ever since I can remember, so visiting one in real life felt like stepping directly into one of my childhood fantasies. I sat in this window and imagined what it must have been like, so long ago. And now the towers sit silent and majestic, ivy and moss and magpies as their only company.]
A snow day literally and figuratively falls from the sky, unbidden, and seems like a thing of wonder.
~Susan Orlean
Song For The Rainy Season by Elizabeth Bishop
Hidden, oh hidden
in the high fog
the house we live in,
beneath the magnetic rock,
rain-, rainbow-ridden,
where blood-black
bromelias, lichens,
owls, and the lint
of the waterfalls cling,
familiar, unbidden.
In a dim age
of water
the brook sings loud
from a rib cage
of giant fern; vapor
climbs up the thick growth
effortlessly, turns back,
holding them both,
house and rock,
in a private cloud.
At night, on the roof,
blind drops crawl
and the ordinary brown
owl gives us proof
he can count:
five times--always five--
he stamps and takes off
after the fat frogs that,
shrilling for love,
clamber and mount.
House, open house
to the white dew
and the milk-white sunrise
kind to the eyes,
to membership
of silver fish, mouse,
bookworms,
big moths; with a wall
for the mildew's
ignorant map;
darkened and tarnished
by the warm touch
of the warm breath,
maculate, cherished;
rejoice! For a later
era will differ.
(O difference that kills
or intimidates, much
of all our small shadowy
life!) Without water
the great rock will stare
unmagnetized, bare,
no longer wearing
rainbows or rain,
the forgiving air
and the high fog gone;
the owls will move on
and the several
waterfalls shrivel
in the steady sun.
View On Black it's pretty cool!
“If you greatly desire something, have the guts to stake everything on obtaining it.”~Brendan Francis
“Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead.”~ Joss Whedon
It is not optimism or wishful thinking. It is not a simple act of the will, a decision under human control, or a willful determination. It emerges without clear cause like grace, without explanation, in the midst of despair and at the point of least hope. It comes from elsewhere, unbidden, illusive, uncontrollable, and surprising, given in the pit, the place of no hope...
...I recognize, instead, that hope is one experience of survival, one interlude in coming to grips with tragedy, and one fragile interpretation among others. Hope appears, flags, disappears as if forever, reemerges, and fades again as the light changes.
-Lamentations and the Tears of the World,
Kathleen M. O’Connor
A lone but tireless sentry,
Cast in emerald green,
Standing guard over a treasure,
Disguised as an artistic scene.
Behind the tiles colourful memories,
Of past and present are hidden.
He’ll tie up trespassers,
Or those who come unbidden.
Poem: Jan Elemans
2011
---------------------------------------------------------
Ships mooring point
Waterfront
Groninger museum
Groningen
The Netherlands
“Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead.” --Joss Whedon
Thanks for all comments and criticism