Halloween Horror Nights
View allAll Photos Tagged Wove
Serie "Bocados de luz"(1): Diluyendo la niebla
La luz es caprichosa, a veces, el cielo adquiere un hermoso color similar al caramelo, por eso esta serie de fotos de amaneceres y atardeceres hace referencia a "bocados de luz".
"Diluir la niebla"
Desperté cuando la noche era aún una boca negra de desesperación, entonces, poco a poco, la luz domesticó los pensamientos, tejí una red de certezas que me permite andar por el filo cortante e inseguro de la cordura. Avanza el día y te diluyes, apenas una silueta, te quedas debajo de las capas del tiempo. Te extiendes a lo largo y a lo lejos, te diluyes. Salir de la niebla, romper la ceguera del no saber, del no entender.
...................
The light is capricious, sometimes the sky acquires a beautiful caramel color, that's why this series of photos of sunrises and sunsets refers to "bites of light".
"Diluting the mist"
I awoke when the night was still a black mouth of despair, then, little by little, the light domesticated the thoughts, I wove a network of certainties that allows me to walk on the sharp and insecure edge of sanity. The day advances and you dilute yourself, just a silhouette, you stay under the layers of time. You stretch far and far away, you dilute yourself. Get out of the mist, break the blindness of not knowing, of not understanding.
Fragmento de: Sueño infantil
Autor: Antonio Machado
So el chisporroteo
de las luminarias,
amor sus madejas
de danzas tejía.
Y en aquella noche
de fiesta y de luna,
noche de mis sueños,
noche de alegría,
el hada más joven
besaba mi frente...
con su linda mano
su adiós me decía...
/
Fragment of: Children's dream
Author: Antonio Machado
So the sizzle
of the luminaires,
love your skeins
of dances wove.
And on that night
Party and moon,
night of my dreams,
night of joy,
the youngest fairy
kissed my forehead ...
with his nice hand
his goodbye told me ...
Lakes Trail, Mount Rainier National Park, Washington
On a day when I hiked to three beautiful waterfalls, there was something about this small unnamed cascade that caught my eye as I was crossing a slightly wobbly footbridge over the Paradise River.
Maybe it was the way the water seemed to dance in the sunlight.
Maybe it was how it wove its way through the rocks, filling the spaces left between.
Maybe it was the rocks themselves, those exquisite edges carved by nature’s force.
Maybe it was the sound, rushing and echoing in a forest of silence.
Or maybe I was just in a waterfall state of mind :-)
The veil that clouds your eyes shall be lifted by the hands that wove it - Khalil Gibran
-Birth- 'Glimmer Custom Eye System'
Basic Starter Texture Pack
BOM Eyes and Glimmer Eyes
*Birth* 'Hocus Pocus' Eye Effects for Glimmer Eyes
Applies a moving texture over the eyes
Eyes look alive - twinkle
Six Feet Under ~ SFU - Mania Veil, exclusive @ the Darkness Event
5 April - 30 April
Slack Girl ~ ::SG:: CATWA HDPRO Falsies 22 - kit 5Lash, exclusive @ the Darkness Event
5 April - 30 April
Catwa HDPRO Heads only
Tintable
A highlight of my Alaska trip was an aerial tour of Denali National Park. It was a thrill to see such massive granite spires as this one "face to face" as our bush plane wove through the 16 kilometer Great Gorge corridor carved by Ruth Glacier below.
Nikon D7500, Sigma 18-300, ISO 200, f/11.0, 18mm, 1/500s
Location:Zathyra Love Light and Peace
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Spirit%20of%20Dreams/192/1...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Valinor
-Kevin Michael Anderson-
There is a land, so great and fair
wrapped in secrets that none can dare,
But past the fog and mighty waves
grows things that forever stays.
Their lights gleam by through skies,
Their moon is where it rests and dies.
Concealed in mountains; A majestic sight,
from Taniquetil, and Ilmarin, of white and crisp Night!
There summer greens grow wildly
and a tune is wove so merrily
that fountains scream with delight and gloom
and flowers bloom from August through June!
Their the frost is mere sweet delight!
and warmth is a endless sensational flight!
Their towers and cities are built great;
And the Eldar whom live in them live an Undying Fate!
There the lights play as a musical,
high strung with life so ethical!
There a kingdom is wrought, in the West,
which are homes to Gods, their temporary 'Nest',
There the Valar live, in Valinor,
which contains the Elder Days, and all other Day's lore,
there, lies a heavenly world
that feels sent from Heaven hurled,
down to Earth, as a flash of Hope
in Valinor, where the Ends are smoke,
In Valinor, where the Garden sleeps,
in Valinor, where only Nienna weeps,
In Valinor, where the Dead rest,
In Valinor, where lies the Crest
of the designs of Illuvutar,
In Valinor, to the West, Afar...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mooching through the conifers in Barnes's Grove I saw some fallen trees whose curling branches were lit by the afternoon sun as they wove themselves among the surrounding trees.
“You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die. A spider's life can't help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that.”
- E.B. White, Charlotte's Web
Have a supa dupa weekend :D
www.youtube.com/watch?v=m0tGE2N3NKE
Thank you for always making the time to stop by xxx
A farmstead from the Right-bank Cherkashchyna, beginning of 20th Century
A house of the year 1907 from Yasnozirka village in Cherkasskyi district of Cherkasska Region.
This farmstead of a prosperous farmer exemplifies a concept of an “open yard”. Its clean part is located at the fore, near the entrance: a house, a storeroom, a wall and a vault. The farmstead’s central place is occupied by the three-room house, consisting of a house, a mudroom, a solar and made of pine-tree saw beams with short open tips. One clean room – a solar – was separated in big double-halved houses. This is a lovely decorated room with painted icons and a national picture, framed by purchased “krolivetsky” embroidered towels and sacral festive items in front of them. A small box on a bench next to the pil (rest space) was made for keeping bead necklaces, strips, precious items, money, and documents.
An ordinary life of a farmer’s family is represented by the left-side house. Here they cooked, nursed babies, wove, spun yarn. A large chimney, common for the both stoves was placed in the mudroom. A mortar, a trough for bathing and a drawing-knife lay here on the floor.
Prosperity of the owner of the house is also evidenced by the yard. All service buildings here are quite big and notable for their difference and good building materials.
Садиба з Правобережної Черкащини початку ХХ ст.
Хата 1907 року села Яснозір`я-2 Черкаського району Черкаської області.
Садиба заможного селянина – це приклад «відкритого двору», де чиста частина розташована на першому плані при вході: хата, комора, криниця та погріб. Центральне місце на садибі відводилося хаті, за планом вона тридільна: хата, сіни, хата-світлиця, рублена із соснових пиляних брусів, з короткими випусками вінців. У великих просторих хатах на дві половини виділено одне чисте приміщення – світлиця, прибрана по-святковому: мальовані ікони, народна картинка в купованих червоних «кролівецьких» рушниках перед образами – святкові обрядові прикраси. Біля полу на лаві стоїть маленька скринька, в якій зберігалося намисто, стрічки, дукачі, гроші, документи.
У лівій хаті – щоденний побут селянської родини, де готувалася їжа, бавили дітей, ткали, пряли. У сінях великий спільний димохід для печей. На долівці стоїть ножна ступа, діжка-шаплик для купання, струг для вичинення шкіри.
Заможність господаря простежується і на подвір’ї. Господарські приміщення великі, відрізняються різноманітністю та гарним будівельним матеріалами, з яких вони зроблені.
This small, dumpy Little Grebe was a delight to watch as it wove in and out of the reeds at Titchfield, ducking and diving for food underwater before bobbing up some way off like a released cork.
While leaving the refuge yesterday, a blue flash appeared across my windshield. Seeing two male Eastern Bluebirds chasing each other in December, it 22 degree weather...somebody seriously messed up!
I didn't expect to get a shot as they wove through the trees at the highest of speeds. Suddenly one broke off and headed deep into the woods. This one, I am assuming the victor, stopped to sing his own praises.
HBW 😊😊😍
I.
"Will you walk into my parlour?" said a spider to a fly;
" 'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to shew when you are there."
"Oh no, no!" said the little fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."
II.
"I'm sure you must be weary, with soaring up so high,
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in."
"Oh no, no!" said the little fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"
III.
Said the cunning spider to the fly, "Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have, within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome – will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no!" said the little fly, "kind sir, that cannot be,"
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see."
IV.
"Sweet creature!" said the spider, "you're witty and you're wise.
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."
V.
The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew, the silly fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner, sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the fly.
Then he went out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple – there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead."
VI.
Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue:–
Thinking only of her crested head, poor foolish thing! – At last
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.
VII.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour – but she ne'er came out again!
– And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly
Mary Howitt (1829)
With heartfelt and genuine thanks for your kind visit. Have a wonderful and beautiful day, be well, keep your eyes open, appreciate the beauty surrounding you, enjoy creating, stay safe and laugh often! ❤️❤️❤️
This little antique shop was loaded with aged, chipped and rusty items for garden and home. A path wove right through a back garden, starting here, and leading right to a little ice cream parlor. Perfect, right?
Well, aside from the harsh midday sun. I seem to find myself in so many right places at the wrong times......
After 5 years of not getting up a mountain it was a dream come true to be once again setting foot up the hills. Glencoe weather was wonderful and so were the views.
Lockdowns and recovering from surgery were forgotten as the hills wove their magic spell once more.
This shot taken from the slopes of Beinn a Chrulaiste.
[MM RP Post]
Finding happiness in the darkness that the Grecession placed upon the wizarding world had been harder than Aurora thought it would be. Oh, she had plenty of happy moments in her life to draw upon, but none that really seemed to stick enough for her to produce anything more than wisps of blue silver.
Until.
Until she conjured up something that had yet to happen. Something that brought her joy, hope, and as long as she thought about it, chased away her own darkness she'd been battling since Easter holiday. The moment she did that? Silver light burst from her wand and with it, the winged serpentine form of her patronus: an occamy that lit up the night as it wove an intricate pattern in the sky above her. She'd done it!
Myth:
Arachne was the daughter of Idmon of Colophon, a dyer who dyed wool with Tyrian purple. She was famous in Hipepa (Lydia), where she had her workshop, for her extraordinary skill in weaving and embroidery.
The praises she received ended up going to the head of the young woman, who became so smug about her skill as a weaver that she began to claim that her skills were superior to those of Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war as well as crafts. The goddess was angry, she gave the young Arachne a chance to redeem herself. Taking the form of an old woman, she warned Arachne not to offend the gods. The mortal scoffed and proposed a weaving contest in which she could prove her superiority. Athena took off her costume and the contest began.
Athena wove the scene of her victory over Poseidon, which inspired the citizens of Athens to name the city after her. According to Ovid's Latin account, Arachne's tapestry represented twenty-two episodes of infidelities of the gods disguised as animals: Zeus being unfaithful to Hera with Leda, with Europa, with Danae and with others.
Athena admitted that the young woman's craftsmanship was perfect, but was greatly annoyed by the disrespectful choice of motif.
Finally losing her temper, the goddess destroyed the tapestry and Arachne's loom by hitting them with her shuttle, and also struck at head to the young woman. Arachne, who saw her foolishness, was overwhelmed by shame, fled and ended up hanging herself.
In Ovid's account, Athena took pity on Arachne. She doused the rope with aconite juice, causing it to turn into a web and transforming Arachne herself into a spider.
History suggests that the art of weaving had its origin in the imitation of the work of spiders and that it had been developed in Asia Minor.
Upload:
Monday, 5/2/2022 11 A.M.
7/25/2023 5 P.M.
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Set Location: @Home
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
VALINOR
-Kevin Michael Anderson-
There is a land, so great and fair
wrapped in secrets that none can dare,
But past the fog and mighty waves
grows things that forever stays.
Their lights gleam by through skies,
Their moon is where it rests and dies.
Concealed in mountains; A majestic sight,
from Taniquetil, and Ilmarin, of white and crisp Night!
There summer greens grow wildly
and a tune is wove so merrily
that fountains scream with delight and gloom
and flowers bloom from August through June!
Their the frost is mere sweet delight!
and warmth is a endless sensational flight!
Their towers and cities are built great;
And the Eldar whom live in them live an Undying Fate!
There the lights play as a musical,
high strung with life so ethical!
There a kingdom is wrought, in the West,
which are homes to Gods, their temporary 'Nest',
There the Valar live, in Valinor,
which contains the Elder Days, and all other Day's lore,
there, lies a heavenly world
that feels sent from Heaven hurled,
down to Earth, as a flash of Hope
in Valinor, where the Ends are smoke,
In Valinor, where the Garden sleeps,
in Valinor, where only Nienna weeps,
In Valinor, where the Dead rest,
In Valinor, where lies the Crest
of the designs of Illuvutar,
In Valinor, to the West, Afar...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While still down on the deck I was pretty happy to snap this one.
I suspect the ruffled feathers are from a scuffle with another Kereru. I witnessed an aerial fight between two of them recently and a flurry of feathers erupted from the altercation. The dozen or so feathers parachuted gently onto the driveway.
Of course I collected these treasures and have included a couple as decoration on the first basket I wove. More on that soon.
Adored this tree trunk as it wove its way in a very serpentine fashion through the dense (and still very green) complexity of foliage. Taken in the woods at Whiteleaf Cross, Princes Risborough.
I was framing up, stood in the middle of the narrow lane, and I stood aside as a small convoy of 4X4's came through peopled by hunting types in tweed. Judging by the catcalls, hooting and laughter I think that they mistook me for a hunt saboteur so I quickly finished up and left. Shortly thereafter I drove around a bend which took me past a farm straddling the lane and where the 4X4's were randomly parked, the occupants spread across the lane laughing and smoking. Their mood changed and they eyed me suspiciously as I slowly wove through them before I put my foot down and gratefully cleared the throng, leaving them scowling after me.
or ... 'after the New Year celebrations'
For the Smile on Saturday challenge: "2020"
I just don't want to put away my favourite Xmas tree bauble for another year - not yet! So I wove it in with the ribbon and the strips of 2020 paper.
HSoS!! remembering a lovely festive holiday ;o)
Cliche and Smile on Saturday: Here
Festive images set: Here
Still Life Compositions: Here
I loved the way that the road wove its way into the trees. Infrared was the way to go because of the time of day, but the large clouds make for more gentle light.
“Mama never forgets her birds,
Though in another tree –
She looks down just as often
And just as tenderly
As when her little mortal nest
With cunning care she wove –
If either of her sparrows fall,
She notices, above.”
– Emily Dickinson
The Ayeyarwadi is a mighty river but it is not as wide as the Amazon and the Yangtse. Observing the changing landscapes was a good pastime. People on the riverbank often wove hands to tourist boats.
The men wove the coarser cloth, for bags, for example. This man took all the necessary utensil with him and only needed a tree to put up his back strap loom.
Befuddled, the First Knight frantically wove his way through the forest in a mad dash toward his once home. As he neared the Lake, the sight of Nymiane's open arms beneath the waters' surface eased his mind in a way he could never have imagined.
The first of a collaboration series with the great Flickr photographic artist, Harsubagh.
"H" approached me a few months ago and asked if we might join forces and see what comes of it. I heartily agreed as I have always deeply admired his work.
A brilliant and utterly fearless experimenter, H produces work that has little regard for popular taste or convention of any kind, and, as such, grabs my attention and holds it there in fascination. He's not afraid to push into territory that some might mistakenly feel is "unfinished" or "raw", yet if one takes a few minutes to view his pieces, great depths and the subtlest of details emerge.
I feel his work has a very different way of unfolding, a very different sense of time. It opens itself up at a comparatively "glacial" pace, not at all how a lot of work is immediately apprehended in a second or two. So, in this way it's almost antithetical to "Internet Time". Harsubagh seems to live in defiance of that rapid-fire, get it all in one second immediacy of Internet Art. For this I've always admired him.
Here are 3 pieces he sent me that I wove together and subjected to text and looping lines etc to "unify" the collection. The photographic manipulation is HIS and I did nothing to change his work on them at all. I just assembled them in my own way and tied them together.
Harsubagh and I plan on more of these in future.
Harsubagh: www.flickr.com/photos/-writingtree-/
___________________________________________________
Music Link: "What's He Building ?" - Tom Waits, from his album, "Mule Variations" ( 1999 ).
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAkZT_4vL_Y
___________________________________________________
© Richard S Warner ( Visionheart ) & Harsubagh - 2017. All Rights Reserved. This image is not for use in any form without explicit, express, written permission.
* - See my Galleries featuring some of the best of Flickr's purely Abstract Art at:
Ils n’avaient pas besoin de mots.
Juste une oreillette, un coucher de soleil, et Paris comme témoin.
La musique tissait ce fil invisible entre eux, léger mais bien réel.
Peut-être qu’il ne se passerait rien.
Ou peut-être que tout avait déjà commencé.
No words were needed.
Just one earbud, a sunset, and Paris as their witness.
Music wove that invisible thread between them ,light, yet undeniable.
Maybe nothing would happen.
Or maybe everything had already begun.
“At last I was ready to let go. I thought it would make me feel sad, but instead there is a great sense of freedom … a lightness of being seldom felt. I was holding on to threads of a past life … dusty cobwebs; brittle with age; they served no-one well. Once we walked hand in hand; side by side, but our paths now have taken different directions and I smile happily for him as I watch him go. He has found a happy ending; one that I could not give him and a great peace has settled around my shoulders; replacing the heaviness of responsibility I had previously felt for his happiness. I continue to declutter my house and my life and the space left behind is not empty, but the essence of true tranquility … “ - excerpt from a short story called “Goodbye to H” by AP
“I am and always have been a rebel, never caving into peer pressure; standing up for what I believe in; fighting against injustices; for those who cannot defend themselves and still it is possible to remain true to my inner core. These days my approach is softer; my words are gentler, because it really is not about who shouts the loudest. Even the stillest, smallest voice can be heard above the cacophony of sound in a noisy world … the secret is not really a secret at all … it is faith … it is hope … it is love.“ - AP
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJ4QoCskBN4
MAKE ME SMILE – STEVE HARLEY & COCKNEY REBEL
Last night I lay awake and silently listened
the window open; I heard the sea breeze sigh
I thought I heard the sound of a bittern
above the gulls and rolling tide
the moon looked down and smiled at me
her glow mercurial lit my face
I swear I heard the sands sweet whispers
weaving a dream like silken lace
oh what a tangled blue web you wove
spinning your tales and all your woes
I am free of you now; I'm letting you go
what comes in with the ocean cleanses all that it knows
no longer do I wander up and down
looking for signs; searching for clues
I know everything now; more than you know
you were never the one; you could never be true
still I will wonder what's out there for me
and pray I will know it when it rolls in from the sea
a message in a bottle; a heart-shaped pebble
a sweet cockleshell may play Cockney Rebel
I'll hold it up to my ear; hear it's secrets intent
for the sound of my loved one and all that he sent
he'll tell me he loves me and mean it this time
I'll love him forever; until I run out of rhyme
he will light up my face from now 'til the end
never cause me sorrow;
always be there tomorrow
a small satisfied smile hovers on my soft lips
as I succumb to my dreams and time is let slip.
- AP - Copyright © remains with and is the intellectual property of the author
Copyright © protected image please do not reproduce without permission. I have gifted this picture to my dearest friend Kostas, who I am humbled to say has it on his desk top where he views it every day <3
This image is a compilation of 2 of my photographs.
🌸Dedicado a todas las chicas de SL / For all SL women. Remember you are beautiful. 🌸
"Y Dios me hizo mujer,
de pelo largo, ojos, nariz y boca de mujer.
Con curvas y pliegues
y suaves hondonadas
y me cavó por dentro,
me hizo un taller de seres humanos.
Tejió delicadamente mis nervios
y balanceó con cuidado
el número de mis hormonas.
Compuso mi sangre
y me inyectó con ella
para que irrigara
todo mi cuerpo;
nacieron así las ideas,
los sueños,
el instinto.
Todo lo que creó suavemente
a martillazos de soplidos
y taladrazos de amor,
las mil y una cosas que me hacen mujer todos los días
por las que me levanto orgullosa
todas las mañanas
y bendigo mi sexo."
Y Dios me hizo mujer - Gioconda Belli
*****
"And God made me woman.
With the long hair,
with the eyes,
the nose and mouth of a woman.
With curves
and folds
and soft hollows.
God carved into me a workshop for human beings.
Delicately wove my nerves
and carefully counted
and balanced my hormones:
composed my blood
and poured it into me
so that it would flow
through my entire body.
And so ideas were born,
dreams,
instincts,
everything that was gently created
with hammering whispers
and the drilling motion of love,
the thousand and one things that make me a woman every day,
that make me arise proud,
when I get up
every morning,
and bless my sex."
*****
👀 Full version: www.primfeed.com/lilaila001.resident/posts/bc9a5a7f-d592-...
*****
📷 Taken in Sunny´s Photo Studio with "Kryo" pose:
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Sunny%20Photo%20Studio/128...
I'd love to see the spider who wove this beautiful web that I found in my garden... delicate and intricate!!!
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard him say it, but there was no time at which those words seemed more relevant. I’d just arrived back at the campsite after a testing adventure that had taken me to the summit of Britain’s highest mountain and back, Ben Nevis. Five and a bit hours earlier I’d set off, part of a group of five on a grey July Saturday morning. Soft rain and mist wove a dampening conspiracy around us, and long before we were halfway up, the land below had vanished entirely. But it had been today or never for me on this middle instalment of three mountains in three days in the Scottish Highlands. Two of us were much faster than the other three and our brief stops to wait for them were rapidly abandoned so that we could keep on moving and stay warm. At the summit, a huge cornice of grainy snow covered the edge of the deadly north face. We didn’t stay at the top for long, huddling among the stone ruins of an abandoned shelter and taking the obligatory summit selfies. On the way down, the zip on my coat broke, and for the rest of the descent I was dogged by sixty mile per hour rain charged gusts that turned me into a sail and quickly soaked me to the core.
“The only thing that’s waterproof is skin!” said James as he peered grimly into the rain out of what I can only describe as a one man teepee. “Tea? Sausage sandwich?” I gratefully accepted, before trudging off squelchily to the campsite laundry where just about everything I had worn was poured into an industrial sized tumble dryer. Even my rucksack and ahem, yes my passport that had inexplicably been with me on the hike went in as I sat in a chair and gradually felt my senses return. It might have been July, but nobody had remembered to tell the Scottish Highlands.
James was always resourceful on these hiking adventures. The much loved patriarch of a Clydebank family, we first met him on the West Highland Way ten years ago as we hiked the hundred odd miles from Milngavie, just north of Glasgow, to Fort William. A man who seemed bigger in stature than he actually stood, he was one of those people who emanated warmth and humour behind which you could sense was a quiet layer of hidden steel. A man who earned our respect without trying to. He was accompanied by several members of his family, including his daughter Karen, who’d taken it upon herself to watch over us like a guardian angel as we made our way north through some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. Each day we all finished at the same hostel or campsite where we would share stories of our adventures over a pint or three, and by the time we arrived in the streets of Fort William during a torrential downpour, the three of us that had started a week earlier had somehow snowballed into a group of twenty.
There were no beds at Fort William that night. We’d intended to sleep in our tents, but the campsite was flooded. A different year, but it was still July. After a lot of frantic searching, Karen appeared with the rescue plan. Alder and Anna, the young teachers from North Carolina we’d befriended and walked every step of the last two and a half days with, would be smuggled into the long since booked hotel room she and Louise were sharing, while Dave, Tom and I would sneak in with James. If James was at all disgruntled by the fact that he was about to share his long awaited hotel room with three people he’d only met a few days ago, he certainly didn’t show it. Instead, he just grinned and poured the whisky. Such effortless kindness is a rare and special thing. James had it in abundance. And since that first adventure, he’s featured in each of the ones we’ve had in Scotland.
Three years later we did the hike again, this time in a Mediterranean style heatwave. But not in July - this time we were in Scotland in May. And somehow I persuaded Ali to come with me, on what was her first ever trip to Scotland. Once again, there was James, now almost in his seventieth year, always magically producing a hip flask full of single malt at the moment it was most needed. I wondered whether there was a lorry following us - or a boat during the very long section of the trail on the remote east bank of Loch Lomond - topping up his hip flask when the rest of us weren’t watching.
Last summer we were back in Scotland for the first time in five years, invited by Alder and Anna to join them on a long overdue reunion hike along the Great Glen. Afterwards, Ali and I trekked the Rannoch Moor section of the West Highland Way alone. Back in 2018 she’d decided to skip the testing haul across the huge open wilderness and regretted it ever since, while I was more than happy to follow that path for a third time. But it turned into yet another July afternoon in the Highlands when the heavens opened and obliterated the landscape. From start to end we were soaked by bullets from the sky, although at least this time the coats kept out the worst of it as we trod the boggy twelve miles across mountain and moor. On a fine day it’s a stunning walk, but in heavy rain it’s sheer purgatory with nowhere to throw in the towel and wait to be rescued by the bus or a taxi.
A couple of days later we met up with James and his wife Joanne who’d joined Karen to visit us at our waterfront pitch on the campsite beside the east bank of Loch Lomond, not far from their home. At least the rain mostly stayed at bay for once. We spent the time drinking tea and reminiscing about those wonderful shared adventures on the trail, and the day Karen and I hiked up to the summit of Buachaille Etive Mor, only to be surrounded by yet another thick veil of suffocating fog. Also in July. Catching up with friends like these was among the highlights of a road trip that we’ll never forget. It was a surprise though to hear that James no longer touched the whisky. Even a beer was politely refused when I dug a couple of cans out of the fridge.
Three weeks ago we learned that James had died suddenly while overseas on holiday with Joanne. A heart attack we were told. He was seventy-five. It doesn’t seem that old, and nor did James. Such a generous and unassuming man. The sad news took me back to the memory of that soaking wet hike across Rannoch Moor, when I smiled through the mist as I heard his well worn mantra speaking across the hills to me in that unmistakable Clydeside accent - “The only thing that’s waterproof is skin!” He’d have loved an afternoon like this. Slàinte James. This one’s for you.
My brother Dave made a video of the 2015 hike: youtu.be/LUjhj2ojeX0?si=1cOJLsAv2Qln-O8a
And despite the fact that his was so much better, I made one of the 2018 hike: youtu.be/Qjq47Wiyko8
Since this first trip, where the Dolomites wove their spell, I've been back a few times...mostly skiing....but I look forward to a photographic revisit soon.
2022-08-28, Day 2
The thinning sheet of ice that is Monarch Glacier sits in a basin of stone high up on the throne-like shoulders of Monarch Mountain (9,111 ft; 2,777 m), Victoria Cross Range, Jasper National Park, Alberta.
The ice combined with the cool, wet cloud to create an atmosphere that felt autumnal as we slowly ascended and wove our way through meadows, following the firmest, highest ground that we could. Due to the rain, the plentiful, dense, and healthy herbaceous vegetation, and the water table being very close to the surface, the feet stayed stubbornly saturated. All of this did little to dampen the magnificence of the place. I don't know when the last person walked this valley before we found our way through, but we encountered not a trace of humanity.
As I walked somewhat ahead of my friend, I found myself enveloped in quiet, my mind ruminating on whether we would encounter bears and where we might find a good place to pitch the tent where the ground would be dry. I also began to feel the isolation, both foreign compared to my typical town fare and also exhilarating. The clouds remained thick and dense, and it seemed likely it would rain periodically for the foreseeable future. I could hear my pack creaking quietly and rhythmically as the weight shifted on my back as I moved, and precious little else reached for the mind's attention. One of the beauties of walking with a friend with whom I have hiked for 30 years is we are able to drift into long periods of comfortable silence, absorbing the unadulterated wild with each step further into the fastness.
Українська хата мазанка під стріхою - традиційне житло українців на Поділлі.
На Поділлі хати у селі завжди виглядали гарно. Завжди побілені, іноді розписані в квітах та в пташках. В конструкції будівель цих районів у другій половині 19 століття переважав каркас з заповненням його деревом та глино-соломою з наступною обмазкою та побілкою. Особливістю подільської народної архітектури є широке застосування в декорі поліхромних розписів, підводок, кольорового пофарбування стін як житла, так і господарських будівель. Тридільна споруда (хата-сіни-хата). Поруч з хатою знаходилась клуня в якій молотили хліб.
Хата 1907 року села Яснозір`я-2 Черкаського району Черкаської області.
Садиба заможного селянина – це приклад «відкритого двору», де чиста частина розташована на першому плані при вході: хата, комора, криниця та погріб. Центральне місце на садибі відводилося хаті, за планом вона тридільна: хата, сіни, хата-світлиця, рублена із соснових пиляних брусів, з короткими випусками вінців. У великих просторих хатах на дві половини виділено одне чисте приміщення – світлиця, прибрана по-святковому: мальовані ікони, народна картинка в купованих червоних «кролівецьких» рушниках перед образами – святкові обрядові прикраси. Біля полу на лаві стоїть маленька скринька, в якій зберігалося намисто, стрічки, дукачі, гроші, документи.
У лівій хаті – щоденний побут селянської родини, де готувалася їжа, бавили дітей, ткали, пряли. У сінях великий спільний димохід для печей. На долівці стоїть ножна ступа, діжка-шаплик для купання, струг для вичинення шкіри.
Заможність господаря простежується і на подвір’ї. Господарські приміщення великі, відрізняються різноманітністю та гарним будівельним матеріалами, з яких вони зроблені.
This farmstead of a prosperous farmer exemplifies a concept of an “open yard”. Its clean part is located at the fore, near the entrance: a house, a storeroom, a wall and a vault. The farmstead’s central place is occupied by the three-room house, consisting of a house, a mudroom, a solar and made of pine-tree saw beams with short open tips. One clean room – a solar – was separated in big double-halved houses. This is a lovely decorated room with painted icons and a national picture, framed by purchased “krolivetsky” embroidered towels and sacral festive items in front of them. A small box on a bench next to the pil (rest space) was made for keeping bead necklaces, strips, precious items, money, and documents.
An ordinary life of a farmer’s family is represented by the left-side house. Here they cooked, nursed babies, wove, spun yarn. A large chimney, common for the both stoves was placed in the mudroom. A mortar, a trough for bathing and a drawing-knife lay here on the floor.
Prosperity of the owner of the house is also evidenced by the yard. All service buildings here are quite big and notable for their difference and good building materials.
"Orange and Blue" for Macro Mondays.
My wife is a weaver and a master at the color wheel. This is a tiny part of a scarf that she wove that illustrates a piece of music in color and pattern. The snow is from our recent April Fools (unfortunately real) snow storm.
Thanks for the visits and comments!
2 Chronicles 3:14 “And he made the veil of blue, purple, crimson, and fine linen, and wove cherubim into it.”
You wove a cruel and shadowed game, drawing me close, whispering promises that crumbled like ash in my hands. You let me wander through dreams of you. Then you shattered me awake with a truth sharp as winter’s blade. Your heart never stirred, yet you painted me a lover’s lie, made me think your pulse echoed mine. And still, I’m here, chained to this heartache, searching for you through the haze of my dreams.
The fire howls wild, devouring what’s left of my heart, and I stand alone, a fool crowned in empty promises, longing still for a love that will never be.
I never thought I’d carve your name in my soul and I never thought I’d mourn the ghost of you. But now I see. Love is a phantom hymn, a dirge in the dark shadows of our minds. No one truly cradles another’s heart.
Tickling an image of mine with AI.
In the miniature world of insects, beneath the towering canopies of mushrooms, a bustling community thrived. It was a place where ants marched with purpose, beetles scuttled in search of treasure, and spiders wove intricate webs between the fungal giants.
One sunny day, a curious ladybug named Lila decided to take a stroll under the mushroom forest. As she wandered beneath the towering caps, she marveled at the dappled sunlight filtering through the delicate gills above. To her, it felt like strolling through a grand cathedral, with the mushroom stems standing tall like pillars reaching for the sky.
But as Lila ventured deeper into the shadows, she encountered unexpected obstacles: drops of dew clinging to the mushroom caps. To her tiny feet, they were vast lakes, forcing her to navigate with care to avoid getting soaked.
Despite the challenges, Lila pressed on, enchanted by the beauty of her surroundings. And as she emerged from the mushroom forest, she couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the hidden world that existed just beneath her feet.
Lord, You have searched me and known me.
You know when I sit down and when I get up;
You understand my thought from far away.
You scrutinize my path and my lying down,
And are acquainted with all my ways.
Even before there is a word on my tongue,
Behold, Lord, You know it all.
You have encircled me behind and in front,
And placed Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
It is too high, I cannot comprehend it.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.
If I take up the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there Your hand will lead me,
And Your right hand will take hold of me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
And the light around me will be night,”
Even darkness is not dark to You,
And the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to You.
For You created my innermost parts;
You wove me in my mother’s womb.
I will give thanks to You, because I am awesomely and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from You
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully formed in the depths of the earth;
Your eyes have seen my formless substance;
And in Your book were written
All the days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them.
How precious also are Your thoughts for me, God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the sand.
When I awake, I am still with You.
If only You would put the wicked to death, God;
Leave me, you men of bloodshed.
For they speak against You wickedly,
And Your enemies take Your name in vain.
Do I not hate those who hate You, Lord?
And do I not loathe those who rise up against You?
I hate them with the utmost hatred;
They have become my enemies.
Search me, God, and know my heart;
Put me to the test and know my anxious thoughts;
And see if there is any hurtful way in me,
And lead me in the everlasting way.
SlowForward Performance F13 März 2015: Aktion in der Passage Karlsplatz: "VIVA LA Seethaler" (youtube)
Artwork in the background: Adolf Frohner "Cirka 55 Schritte durch Europa (Circa 55 Steps through Europe)"
Part of: "Weaving Diary Tapestry Aktion Tagebuch Teppich Tapisserie Tagebuch weben 365 days project 2: 2015 2016" 10.
Mai 2016: Seethaler Gedicht Westbahnhof
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