View allAll Photos Tagged certainty
It looked a racing certainty that there would be mist/fog at Loch Droma this morning and though Iain was otherwise deployed, I managed to persuade Rob to join me for an 0500 start to make the sunrise. Arriving at Loch Droma was an initial disappointment in that there was no sign of the forecast mist and much of the water was rippled. However, that early disappointment was soon forgotten as the breeze quickly dropped and the sky above An Teallach to the west took on a lovely pink hue prior to sun-up.
There are moments when the things that hold us seem to loosen their grip.
The weight we carry.
The ground beneath us.
The quiet certainty that what rises must eventually return.
And for the briefest instant, there is only suspension—a small space between where we have been and where we are going.
Of course, gravity remembers.
It always does.
Perhaps that is what makes those moments of weightlessness so beautiful.
I take a step forward to sincerely and firmly thank all the people who, in some way, connected with the intention behind
ꜱʜᴇ’ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ.
This project was not born from pretension. It was born from a genuine search to create a space where we could ᴇᴍʙʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴇxᴘʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴇᴇʟʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴄᴏɢɴɪᴢᴇ ᴏᴜʀ
ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ.
A search that led me to experiment and learn, with the intention of building something meaningful from both the personal and the collective.
In parallel to this process, I have been part of a training that I am about to complete in my real life.
Without going into those details, I can say that I offered myself as my own experiment: I took the leap, exposed myself, and tried a way of doing things that ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ.
I did so knowing that there were aspects I did not fully master. I acted more from ɪɴᴛᴜɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀɴ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʏ.
And that intersection—between creative impulse, deep intention, and a shared space—was, above all, ꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.
I am learning to manage communication through these media and to channel it toward an objective or proposal—something connected to my training.
Keeping the essence alive was an exercise in balancing the idea, what I felt, and what I managed to express.
A true breeding ground, a challenge.
If some people felt that the approach blurred their own creative codes, it was never my intention;
I understand it may have been perceived that way, and from a place of honesty, I offer an apology—not for what I did, but for how it may have been interpreted.
Taking risks ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴏᴏᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ, especially when diverse perspectives come together and one is in a personal learning process.
ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ɪᴛ—ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ, ɪ ᴀꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ʟᴀᴅɪᴇꜱ.
I close this cycle with the certainty that growth involves facing discomforts, even our own.
Thanks again to everyone for being part of it, for pausing, observing what I said and did, engaging with the idea, and thus allowing me—and us—to move forward, mistakes and failures included.
A journey that led me to meet ᴀ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴀꜱᴋɪɴɢ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴀɢᴏɴɪꜱᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪꜱ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴀᴛʜ.
ꜱʜᴇ’ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ behind ꜱʜᴇ’ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ. has been nothing other than a ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢᴇ.
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴜꜱᴛᴀɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱꜰᴏʀᴍɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴʜᴀʙɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴘᴀᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ.
ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟ ɢʀᴀᴛɪᴛᴜᴅᴇ, ᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ.🌷✨
Squirrel view from the west, appr 200m distance.
Sun -9.
The Cathedral of Linköping is the second biggest church in Sweden, and is 110 m long and 107m in height.
-
Year 1153 was the stone church with certainty completed, which emerges from the documents of the Church Council in the same year, it was then a Romanesque basilica and about half as large as today.
©dragonflydreams88
For my part I know nothing with any certainty,
but the sight of the stars makes me dream.
- Vincent Van Gogh
I like the wind because it stirs and ruffles the scents of all the flowers, plays with the trees, ruffles certainties and dries wounds.
The ibis stands alone in the shallows, reduced to pure shape and intention by the fading light. Its curved beak and long legs carve a clean silhouette against the rippling water, turning the bird into a living piece of calligraphy. The scene feels unhurried, almost meditative a moment where the world narrows to a single figure and the soft texture of the water beneath it.
The light glances across the surface in thin, shifting lines, giving the image a quiet rhythm. There’s no color to distract, no background to compete just form, shadow, and the calm certainty of a bird that knows exactly where it belongs. It’s simplicity with weight, a reminder that sometimes the most powerful images are the ones that say the least.
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ʙᴇ sᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏ
The city hums beneath her feet, a low, electric murmur that once felt like home but now thrums with the pull of something else, something wilder, untamed. She stands at the edge of a decision, the weight of it pressing against her ribs like a second heartbeat. The wind tugs at the hem of her coat, impatient, whispering in her ear. She exhales, slow and steady, and lets the moment stretch, feeling the sharp thrill of the unknown coil in her stomach. Fear is there, of course - it always is - but she wears it like an accessory, like a shade of lipstick that dares the world to look twice.
She glances once over her shoulder - not out of doubt, but acknowledgment. Of the version of herself she is about to leave, the city that cradled her in certainty, the roads she once walked without question. Then, with a smirk only she understands, she steps forward, in a whole different place. The air shifts. The moment breaks open. And just like that, she is in motion - toward the life that has been waiting for her all along.
Forward is the way.
Singapore has a sensibly regulated free market economy, combined with political stability and certainty based on the rule of law. A laser sharp focus on quality education has produced an industrious and well educated work force. Singapore is probably the only country in that has graduated from being a Third World Country to a First World one within a single generation.
These attributes have attracted many international investors that have turned Singapore into a powerhouse for global business and finance.
Several leading multinational corporations have established their regional headquarters in Singapore, and announce their presence in the form of competing skyscrapers that rival any skyline found in the leading countries of the world.
“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” – Vincent Van Gogh
Taken at Tranquility Base Marina
Kygo-Someday w/Zac Brown
A honeybee rests upon a violet bloom, wings glinting like glass under the sun. The flower’s folds cradle the visitor in a moment of perfect exchange color and motion, purpose and grace. The bee moves with quiet certainty, gathering gold from the heart of purple, a ritual as old as the world itself.
This image captures the sacred rhythm of creation: the unseen pact between earth and air, between bloom and being. It’s a reminder that life’s magic often hides in the smallest gestures a single landing, a breath of pollen, a spark of continuity.
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toward the night | somei satoh
youtu.be/3R6jhnoVIoE?si=S0T_3gGAGgbeoJ0J
Between perception and memory, the tides guide the pen across the water, as though writing a new story upon the sea. A mere tiny tremor releases the sea from its concrete form and turns it into something that is no longer a fixed place. It destroys certainty. The water loses its geographical identity and begins to become something of its own. The object transforms into the subject. The tides write, yet their story remains beyond what can be read. They leave traces that emerge and disappear in the very same moment. Each wave overwrites the one before it. The sea thus possesses a kind of memory that consists of perpetual forgetting.
We like to think of life as a fixed place. We say: This is who I am. This is my story. This is my past. This is my relationship, my profession, my home, my path. We give names to what is moving, so that it may have a sense of stability for a moment.
But life itself is the movement of the tides.
A tiny disturbance, a loss, an encounter, a decision, a stranger’s words at precisely the right moment, and suddenly the form we have known begins to waver. What previously seemed clear loses its contours. At first, this may appear as a loss. Yet within it, another possibility emerges: life becomes open again.
In the moment when the fixed form dissolves, something else can happen. I realize that my life is not a finished story that I merely observe. It responds to my perception, my decisions, my movements. It becomes the subject of an ongoing relationship between the world and me.
And perhaps that is what growing older means in a deeper sense: not finally finding a fixed form, but learning to live with its changing nature.
The sea reveals something uncomfortable: A trace does not have to be permanent in order to have truly existed.
A human being, too, does not have to define their life in a final form for it to possess meaning.
Perhaps true freedom lies in being able, at some point, to say:
I am the movement between what was and what has not yet taken form.
by bes~•
There are things we spend our lives trying to hold onto.
The innocence of youth. The certainty of being loved. The familiar voices of people who once filled our days. The quiet assurance that tomorrow will resemble yesterday.
But life has a way of loosening our grip.
Time carries away the things we believed would remain, leaving us with memories that grow softer around the edges. We learn that even the most beautiful moments cannot be kept, no matter how desperately we wish otherwise.
And yet, not everything disappears.
Some things remain beyond the reach of time. A kindness once given. A love that changed us. The memory of someone who made an ordinary day extraordinary.
Perhaps growing older is less about learning to let go and more about discovering what was never ours to keep.
And what, despite everything, remains.
New beginnings don’t always arrive with certainty. Sometimes they look like a quiet decision to try again, choose yourself, and trust what’s unfolding.
Here’s to fresh chapters, open doors, and beautiful things we haven’t met yet.
💗 Lyric flare jeans, top and bra sponsored by Tetra available at Mainstore
☀️ TRUTH Collective - Marea fatpack - Fatpack sponsored by TRUTH available at Access event
💗 Aditional Items
✔️ Lelutka Camila head @ Mainstore
✔️ Ebody Reborn body @ Mainstore
✔️ Lueur- Dewy shine @ Mainstore
✔️ Voguel - Megan Skin @ Mainstore
✔️ Voguel - Megan lips @ Mainstore
✔️ BeMia - Faye Tatoo @ Mainstore
✔️ BeMia - Brooke Tattoos butterflies @ Mainstore
General Watkins Conservation Area
Morley Missouri
Scott County
Photo taken on October 27, 2020
Walking in the rain is not something I do intentionally. However if there is a threat of rain, I will still go for my walk and take my chances. Well on this afternoon, my chances ran out. My little weather map I look at told me that the rain had passed. So i felt confident that I would stay dry. They call this shower a pop up. It’s part of the random occurrences of weather. We only know so much, the element of chance still has a say. That’s why they say there is a say 80% chance of rain. Only rarely can the tell us with any certainty when and if rain will occur. I didn’t mind it when there was just a mist, heavy fog that condensed on my sleeves. But as I continued walking the mist turned into a drizzle, which advanced to a shower, and finally by the time I reached the car it was a downpour.
"Son, can you play me a memory?
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"
-- Billy Joel, Piano Man
A sad and sweet last image from my visit to Buffalo New York. I unexpectedly came across this tree swing in a park near from Silo City. A bit of hope amongst the ruins; only absent a child to provide the certainty of a future for American industry.
🌸 S P O N S O R S 🌸
Black Box
- NEW GROUPGIFT -
Joyfull Times - Couple pose
He didn’t say a word.
Just a gesture, a direction… and that quiet certainty that some places are meant to be discovered together.
Between waterfalls and whispers, I followed.
With a single heave and a properly dramatic wing stroke, he removed himself from ground-level responsibilities
We spend so much of our lives trying to hold on to things that were never meant to remain.
Youth. Beauty. The affection of another. The certainty that tomorrow will resemble today.
We arrange ourselves carefully before the world, hoping that something of who we are might endure beyond the fleeting moment. Yet time has a quiet way of revealing the fragility of everything we believe we possess.
Perhaps there is sadness in that knowledge.
But perhaps there is freedom, too.
For beauty was never meant to be measured only by what survives. Sometimes its greatest significance lies precisely in its passing—in the brief and extraordinary privilege of having been here at all.
And somewhere between the person we present to the world and the one we carry privately within, there remains a story no photograph can fully preserve.
As hard as it is to catch a B32-8WH lead any of Amtrak's passenger trains, it's even harder to catch one lead its own train down the mainline. A few days ago AMTK Dash 8 #516 made a rare move from its switching terminal in Sanford up to Jacksonville to pick up five auto racks from a repair facility by Norfolk Southern's Simpson yard. I don't know when the racks were dropped off at the facility, but I think it's been one or two years since a move like this last occurred. I haven't made the effort to go on a night shoot with flashes in probably at least two years as it's usually quite the hassle and is often accompanied by equipment issues, but with the certainty and rarity of the move I had to give it a go. Here AMTK 516 is seen crossing McGirts Creek Bridge with a coach that came along to allow for higher track speed on the northbound trip and the five auto racks picked up at GBW railcar services on the southbound trip back to Sanford.
Jacksonville, FL
♬... L'Appuntamento/The appointment at 7 Via Luigi
I’ve Been Mistaken So Many Times
By Now That I Already Know
that Today its Almost A Certainty
I’ve Been Wrong About You But Once More
that You Can Change My Life…
to Accept This Strange Appointment
has Been A Madness!
I Am Sad Among The People
that You Are Passing By Me
but The Nostalgia Of Seeing You Again
it Is Stronger Than Weeping:
this Sun Shines On On My Face
a Sign Of Hope.
I Am Waiting When Suddenly
you Appear In A Distance!
love, Make It Soon, I Don’t Resist…
if You Don’t Come, I Don’t Exist
I Don’t Exist, I Don’t Exist…
and The Time Has Passed And It’s Raining
but Only To Wait
it Doesn’t Concern Me What The World Thinks
I Don’t Want To Go.
I Look Inside Myself And I Wonder
but I Don’t Feel Anything;
I Only Have is Hope
lost Among The People.
love Is You Already Late And I Don’t Resist…
if You Don’t Come I Don’t Exist
I Don’t Exist, I Don’t Exist…
lights, Cars, Showcases, Roads
everything Seems So Confusing
my Shadow Has Gotten Tired Of Following Me
the Day Dies Slowly.
it Doesn’t Befit Me To Return To My House
to My Sad Life
this Life That I Wanted To Give To You
you Have Crumbled Between The Fingers.
love Pardons But I Don’t Resist…
forever, I Don’t Exist Now
I Don’t Exist, I Don’t Exist..
« The history of Paris teaches us that beauty is a by-product of danger, that liberty is at best a consequence of neglect, that wisdom is entwined with decay. Any Paris of the future that is neither a frozen artifact nor an inhibited holding company will perforce involve fear, dirt, sloth, ruin, and accident. It will entail the continual experience of uncertainty, because the only certainty is death. »
Luc Sante, The Other Paris, 2015.
©johnbleakleyphotography #JohnBleakleyPhotography
Copyright: © 2026 john bleakley photography. All rights reserved. All images protected by Pixy. No unauthorised use.
Head up to the Salt Cellar Thursday night they said, all the weather Apps say it's a 'sunset heathery certainty' they said,....so Mike T and myself confidently headed off along Derwent Edge in the firm belief that it was surely nailed on, and we waited, and we waited,...but not for the first time the weather Apps were a dismal failure.
And so we had to settle for a very dramatic sky instead of a candy floss sky, so not a total failure, ....we came away with something for our efforts.
This POV is not the classic shot of the Salt Cellar, I have positioned myself here for the clouds.
...δε μας κινούσε η αλαζονεία, μήτε η απλοϊκή βεβαιότητα πως θα σταθεί μια μέρα η κορφή και θα τη φτάσουμε· μήτε κι αν τη φτάναμε, πώς θα βρούμε εκεί απάνω την ευτυχία, τη σωτηρία και τον Παράδεισο· ανεβαίναμε, γιατί ευτυχία, σωτηρία και Παράδεισος για μας ήταν η ανάβαση...Νίκος Καζαντζάκης
Copyright © - Manos Spyridakis Photography. All rights reserved
Gardenitsa with Kritharia top (1982 m.)
...we were not moved by arrogance, nor by the simplistic certainty that one day the top will stand and we will reach it; nor even if we reached it, how would we find happiness, salvation and Paradise up there; we were climbing, because happiness, salvation and Paradise for us was the climb...Nikos Kazantzakis
Copyright © - Manos Spyridakis Photography. All rights reserved
Long before children understand sacrifice, they learn its shape.
A parent moves forward, carrying the ordinary weight of another day, while someone small watches the world from a place of complete trust. Most of what defines a childhood isn't remembered in milestones but in thousands of quiet journeys—the errands, the walks home, the trips across a city, and the certainty that someone stronger is leading the way.
Perhaps that is how love is most often lived. Not through grand declarations, but through the steady decision to keep moving, one ordinary moment after another, until those following behind learn to find their own way.
(english follow)
Il n’y a pas de forces plus puissantes chez l’humain que la quête... la quête d’une certitude à être confirmée ou son contraire, la quête motivée par le doute. Ceux qui cherchent des certitudes sont souvent attirés par des réponses simples, des solutions rapides. On dit d’eux qu’avec un peu de chances, ils peuvent vivre heureux. À l’opposé, ceux que le doute motive s’engagent souvent dans des réflexions profondes, difficiles, déstabilisantes, sans fin. Avec un peu de chances, ce doute les pousse en avant. Et nous tous avec eux. (Patrice)
------------------
There is no more powerful forces in humans than the quest ... the quest for certainty to be confirmed or to the opposite, the quest motivated by the doubt. Those looking for certainties are often attracted by simple answers, quick fixes. It is said of them that with a little luck, they can live happily. In contrast, those who doubt must commit themselves into a deep, difficult and endless thought. With a little luck, this will probably push them forward. And all of us with them. (Patrice)
"Reality and fantasy are like two boats sailing side by side towards the unknown, in a sea where doubts and certainties are confused and equivalent until midnight, the hour when the magic runs out, everything disappears into thin air and Cinderella's carriage returns to being a pumpkin."
Lake Montriond is located in the Haute-Savoie in the French Chablais region. The lake is frequented by fishermen and especially by walkers and hikers.
The lake of Montriond was created by the collapse of a part of the mountain of Nantaux in the North West. This geological event, which is not dated with certainty (from 4500 years to 3 or 4 centuries!), caused a dam on the torrent which ran at the bottom of the valley, hence the
formation of the lake.
Le lac de Montriond se trouve en Haute-Savoie dans le Chablais français. Le lac est fréquenté par les pêcheurs et surtout par les promeneurs et randonneurs.
Le lac de Montriond est né suite à l'éboulement d'une partie de la montagne de Nantaux au Nord Ouest. Cet événement géologique non daté avec certitude (de 4500 ans à 3 ou 4 siècles !) a provoqué un barrage sur le torrent qui courait au fond de la vallée, d'où la formation du lac.
these two entities, in their short life, take care of the survival of our planet. the common but, not wrong phrase, the day the bees die, the planet will not exist with life, as we know it, much longer, is a certainty.
This photo is from 2016. A fierce wind was blowing from the north (left) and this little skunk was digging for Pacific mole crabs at low tide. They are about the size and shape of a grape, and they burrow into the sand. Blanca used to sniff them out too and would eat them sometimes.
This was the only time I ever saw a skunk on the beach. However, in this encounter I was able to confirm with 100% certainty that the fresh tracks I see all over the beach almost daily are indeed skunk tracks! Normally they are out at night, though.
for my part ,
i know nothing with
any certainty,
but the sight of the stars
make me dream.
vincent van gogh
Mouche appartenant à la famille Rhinophoridae et de genre Stevenia, mais sans certitude.
Fly belonging to the family Rhinophoridae and of genus Stevenia, but without certainty.
Nobody had stayed at the hotel in forty-three years.
The chandeliers had forgotten electricity. Rain had found its way beneath the wallpaper. Room numbers disappeared one by one beneath dust and peeling paint.
But every evening, the western windows still remembered what to do.
They filled the corridor with gold.
She hadn't meant to stay until sunset.
Then a breeze entered through a broken window and traveled the length of the hallway, lifting the curtains first, then the ribbons of her dress, and finally the impossibly long strands of her hair.
She stopped.
At the far end of the corridor, something had changed.
Not moved.
Changed.
Her eyes settled on the doorway through which she'd entered.
For just an instant, her expression softened.
She knew that doorway.
She couldn't possibly know it.
Yet somewhere beneath the dust, ruined plaster and forty-three silent years, the strangest certainty settled over her.
She had stood here before.
And somehow—
the old hotel remembered her too. ❤️
Confusing flycatcher of montane forest. It has olive-gray upperparts, pale yellow underparts, white wingbars, and a small crest that is usually held flat. When crest is raised, it may show some white. Very similar to White-crested Elaenia, but usually brighter yellow on the belly and may show a more conspicuous eyering. Birds in worn plumage may not be identifiable with certainty. Its most common vocalizations, which include clear whistles and burry calls, are similar to those of other elaenias. (eBird)
Manu National Park, Peru. October 2018.
"Creativity requires the courage to let go of certainties."
Erich Fromm
The national park "Plidvic" in northern Croatia has spectacular views throughout all seasons.
Here a shot from Autumn. Reworked to abstraction because of the motive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All rights reserved. Copyright © Daniel Eckart
Email: vision@e-c-k-art.de
All my images are protected under international authors copyright laws and may not be downloaded, reproduced, copied, transmitted or manipulated without my written explicit permission
Misuse is tracked by an independent agency.
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For a while Megan had been dropping big hints that she wanted to hike the Yorkshire Three Peaks. It's a long day out that involves just short of 26 miles of hill walking and over 5,200 feet of ascent. As a result there is no certainty over how long the hike will take and where you will be at any one time.
The butty stop couldn't have been timed any better as Flying Scotsman passed by over the viaduct at Ribblehead no more than five minutes after we took our break. If I had have had a little more time I would have made my way to the other side of the viaduct to get the sunny side, but you can't have everything.
Plover Hill forms the backdrop with Ingleborough out of sight to the right.
Leaf is life and life is to leave
Live to leave and firmly believe
There is purpose and real aim
Life is really worth to claim
Why leaves look so beautiful?
Hang on tree as very faithful
Real bond to last permanent and forever
Even if existed no danger
Even though for short span?
Must have life utility plan
To live successfully
Merrily and happily
If not then it is burden
May end anytime or all of sudden
It may be deemed as wasted birth
Life is uncertain but certainty is death
hasmukh amathalal
I am reaching near the end of my current photos, so this may be the last of this minimal lake series.
Although I have no idea what is in the folders on my computer or on my camera, so you may be force fed more. Either way, things may or may not be changing up soon. How's that for some certainty.
Have a tremendous Thursday people.
We spend much of our lives arranging ourselves for the world.
We choose what to reveal, what to conceal, and how we hope to be remembered. We learn to carry ourselves with confidence, even when certainty feels far away.
Yet life has a way of interrupting our carefully constructed appearances.
An unexpected disappointment. A conversation we never anticipated. A season that changes everything we thought we understood.
And sometimes, what emerges from those interruptions is something more beautiful than what we had intended.
Perhaps grace is found not in maintaining perfect composure, but in discovering that we remain ourselves when the things around us refuse to cooperate.
There is a quiet dignity in that.
A reminder that our worth has never depended upon how successfully we hold everything together.
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Nothing in this moment demanded a decision.
No word, no gesture, no visible consequence.
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And yet something shifted — not abruptly, not dramatically, but with a weight that could not be dismissed.
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She remained composed, as she always had. That much was familiar.
What unsettled her was not desire, but awareness — the quiet recognition that restraint does not dissolve what it contains. It only teaches it to wait.
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The evening passed without incident.
Stillness held.
But certainty, once disturbed, did not return unchanged.
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Een hunebed of dolmen is een grafkamer uit het neolithicum (4000-3000 v.Chr.) die bestaat uit ten minste drie maar vaak (veel) meer staande draagstenen, overdekt door een (of meer) deksteen.
Hunebedden zijn volgens de gangbare theorie resten van prehistorische grafkamers. Ze zijn echter niet te beschouwen als graven in de gewone betekenis, maar eerder als knekelhuizen. Het is niet met zekerheid te zeggen dat grafsignalisatie de oorspronkelijke functie van al deze bouwwerken is geweest. Er zijn dolmens waarvan vermoed wordt dat ze enkel als heiligdom dienstdeden.
In Nederland vinden we ze nog vooral terug in Drenthe, veelal op de Hondsrug. Ze zijn gebouwd tussen 3350 en 3050 v.Chr, in de meest westelijke uitloper van het territorium van de trechterbekercultuur. In totaal zijn er daar 52 hunebedden bewaard gebleven in Nederland. In bijvoorbeeld Duitsland en Denemarken zijn nog honderden te vinden.
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A dolmen or dolmen is a burial chamber from the Neolithic period (4000-3000 BC) that consists of at least three but often (much) more standing supporting stones, covered by one (or more) capstone.
According to current theory, dolmens are the remains of prehistoric burial chambers. However, they cannot be regarded as graves in the ordinary sense, but rather as charnel houses. It cannot be said with certainty that grave signaling was the original function of all these structures. There are dolmens who are believed to have served only as shrines.
In the Netherlands we still find them mainly in Drenthe, mostly on the Hondsrug. They were built between 3350 and 3050 BC, in the westernmost spur of the funnel-beaker culture territory. A total of 52 dolmens have been preserved there in the Netherlands. Hundreds can still be found in Germany and Denmark, for example.
Wahrscheinlich hatte es beim Anlaufen am Morgen etwas gestockt und gerattert, ein paar seltsame Geräusche. Dann hatten die Räder der komplexen Anlage stillgestanden. Es hatte einen Knall und eine Stichflamme gegeben. Innerhalb von Minuten hatte rund ein Drittel der Produktionsstätte aufgehört zu existieren. Mit dem Rest war auch nicht mehr wirklich viel anzufangen gewesen. Genauso wie geplant.
Er war sich gar nicht ganz sicher gewesen, ob er die Stelle wirklich wiederfinden würde. Als er nun aber auf das rostige und moosbewachsene Zahnrad blickte, das da aus dem Gras ragte, wusste er, dass er am Ziel war. Nach so vielen Jahren hatte er sich entscheiden, noch einmal herzukommen, um endgültig abschliessen zu können. Abschliessen mit einem Projekt, dem er über einige Jahre mit Eifer gedient hatte. Abschliessen mit einem Projekt und einem Leben.
Irgendwann waren die Zweifel gekommen, die nicht wieder verstummen mochten. Sie waren im Gegenteil immer lauter und bohrender geworden, hatten sich schliesslich zu einer einsamen Gewissheit verdichtet: Dieser Krieg, zu dessen Fortgang er beitrug, musste zu Ende gehen. Und zwar durch eine Niederlage.
Nachdem das einmal feststand, war alles Weitere eigentlich nicht schwer gewesen, lediglich eine Frage der detaillierten und sorgfältigen Planung. Er wusste, wie man in der Anlage mit wenig Aufwand eine geradezu verheerende Wirkungskette in Gang setzen konnte, und er hatte die Gelegenheit. Das Zahnrad, auf das er nun wieder blickte, hatte dabei neben einigen anderen Teilen eine gewisse Rolle gespielt.
Die Gelegenheit hatte sich im Zuge einer der vielen Reisen ergeben, die er zur Vorbereitung der bevorstehenden Verlegung in ein unterirdisches Stollensystem mehrere hundert Kilometer entfernt unternahm. Ein Wagen der Organisation Todt hatte ihn wie üblich am Abend abgeholt und mitten in der Nacht bei einem nur noch von Offizieren und zivilen Experten wie ihm besuchten Hotel abgeliefert. So weit, so unspektakulär.
Nur war eben nicht er gefahren, sondern sein Bruder: Sein eineiiger Zwillingsbruder, von dem er nach einer Geburt in den prekären Verhältnissen einer verfallenden Mietskaserne getrennt worden war und der bei der Mutter unter einem anderen Familiennamen als er selbst und in einem anderen Winkel des Reiches aufgewachsen war. Abgesehen davon, dass sie sich glichen wie das sprichwörtliche Ei dem anderen, gab es keine offensichtliche Verbindung, schon gar keine amtliche. Dafür hatten die Menschen, die er bis zu ihrem tragischen Autounfall als seine Eltern gekannt hatte, schon gesorgt. Sie hatten ihm auch eine behütete Kindheit und Jugend geschenkt und ihm ermöglicht, noch rechtzeitig vor dem Krieg zum Maschinenbauingenieur mit Prädikatsexamen zu werden.
Von der Existenz eines Bruders hatte er erst vor einigen Jahren dank dessen unermüdlichen Nachforschens erfahren. Der hatte irgendwann erst vermutet und war sich schliesslich sicher gewesen, dass er nicht alleine geboren worden war. Zunächst war es eigentlich nur Spass gewesen, dass sie sich immer ganz verschwiegen und in den verschiedensten Städten getroffen hatten. Später hatte es sich als durchaus nützlich erwiesen. Vom ersten Treffen an hatten sie sich ohne viele Worte verstanden. Beide waren ledig und ungebunden, der Bruder reiste quer durch das sich zunächst aufblähende und dann wieder schrumpfende Reich und besorgte auf nur ihm bekannten Wegen, was eigentlich absolut nicht zu bekommen war. Solche Menschen waren unverzichtbar und genossen bemerkenswerte Narrenfreiheit. Es war auch sehr schnell klar geworden, dass ihre Einstellung zu bestimmten Fragen nicht weit auseinander lag.
An jenem Abend war der Bruder also unter falscher Identität aufgebrochen. Er selbst hatte sich - zu dieser Zeit ganz allein in jenem Teil des Werks - an die Arbeit gemacht und alles für das grosse Feuerwerk beim nächsten Anfahren vorbereitet. Das mochte vielleicht eine gute Stunde gedauert haben. Als Dritter im Bunde hatte ihn ein anderer Fahrer, ein sehr verschwiegener und guter Freund seit Kindertagen, eingesammelt und sich mit ihm auf einer anderen Route auf den Weg gemacht. Bei einem morgendlichen Spaziergang durch das verschlafene Städtchen hätten sie, so der Plan, wieder die Rollen getauscht und er hätte sich zum Stollen fahren lassen.
Was dazwischengekommen war, war eine verirrte Bombe eines Angriffs auf eine nahegelegene Fabrik. Diese hatte das Hotel samt Bruder ausgelöscht, als er selbst gerade die Stadtgrenze erreicht hatte. Das für einige Stunden gedachte Verwirrspiel war damit dauerhaft. Er war nun sein Bruder.
Es hatte beim Anlaufen etwas gestockt und gerattert, ein paar seltsame Geräusche. Dann hatten die Räder in der Maschine seines neuen Lebens geschmeidig ineinandergegriffen und hatten sich bewegt, als wäre es nie anders gewesen.
(Teil der Serie: Ein Bild und eine Geschichte. Copyright der Sekretär, 2025. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.)
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There had probably been some stuttering and rattling during start-up in the morning, a few strange noises. Then the wheels of the complex machinery had come to a standstill. There had been a bang and a flash fire. Within minutes, around a third of the production facility had ceased to exist. There hadn't really been much use for the rest either. Just as planned.
He hadn't been too sure whether he would really find the spot again. But when he looked at the rusty, moss-covered cogwheel sticking out of the grass, he knew he had reached his destination. After so many years, he had decided to come back here one last time so that he could finally come to an end. Come to an end with a project that he had served with zeal for several years. Come to an end with a project and a life.
At some point, the doubts had come, and they would not go away. On the contrary, they had become louder and louder and had finally condensed into a lonely certainty: This war, to whose progress he was contributing, had to come to an end. And it had to end in defeat.
Once that had been fixed, everything else had not really been difficult, just a question of detailed and careful planning. He knew how to set off a devastating chain of effects in the plant with little effort, and he had the opportunity. The cogwheel he was now looking at again had played a certain role in this, along with a couple of other parts.
The opportunity had arisen in the course of one of the many trips he made to prepare for the upcoming transfer to an underground tunnel system several hundred kilometers away. As usual, a car from the Todt organization had picked him up in the evening and dropped him off in the middle of the night at a hotel frequented only by officers and civilian experts like himself. So far, so unspectacular.
However, it wasn't him who had gone, but his brother: his monozygotic twin brother, from whom he had been separated after being born in the precarious conditions of a run-down tenement and who had grown up with his mother under a different surname to his own and in a different corner of the empire. Apart from the fact that they were like two peas in a pod, there was no obvious connection, let alone an official one. The people he had known as his parents until their tragic car accident had already seen to that. They had also given him a sheltered childhood and youth and enabled him to become a mechanical engineer with honors before the war.
He had only found out about the existence of a brother a few years ago thanks to the latter's tireless research. He had first suspected at some point and had finally been certain that he had not been born alone. At first, it had actually just been fun that they had always met in secret and in different cities. Later, it had proved to be quite useful. From their first meeting, they had understood each other without many words. Both were single and unattached, the brother traveled all over the first expanding and later shrinking empire and procured what was actually absolutely unobtainable through channels known only to him. Such people were indispensable and enjoyed remarkable liberties. It also became clear very quickly that their attitudes to certain issues were not far apart.
That evening, the brother had departed under a false identity. He had set to work himself - all alone in that part of the factory at the time - and prepared everything for the big fireworks the next time they started up. That might have taken a good hour. Another driver, a very discreet and good friend since childhood, had picked him up and set off with him on a different route. The plan was that during a morning stroll through the sleepy little town, they would have swapped roles again and he would have let himself be driven to the tunnel.
What had interfered was a stray bomb from an attack on a nearby factory. It had wiped out the hotel and his brother just as he himself had reached the city boundaries. The game of confusion that had been planned for a few hours was now permanent. He was now his brother.
There had been some stuttering and rattling, a few strange noises. Then the wheels in the machine of his new life had meshed smoothly and moved as if it had never been any different.
(Part of the series: A picture and a story. Copyright by Secretary, 2025, all rights reserved.)