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The Circuit Didier Absalon is a hiking trail linking the active mineral water source at Fontaine Didier with the former thermal baths at Absalon, Martinique.
One of two cascades that make up Junction waterfall section on the Lawson waterfall circuit in the Blue Mountains, NSW.
(2nd time posted sorry. accidentally deleted the previous)
Dothan was a large enough city to attract a Circuit City, though that hardly mattered once the chain went bankrupt. This looks like a newer store.
Ross Clark Circle at Montgomery Highway, Dothan.
Public phone booths are becoming a curiosity these days, but Neu Isenburg has one in working order, it doesn't even have cigarette burns or chewing gum on the handset. The things you see...
Thank you everyone for your visits, faves and comments, they are always appreciated :)
sens du circuit et étapes
1 vers le Volcan 2 Hot springs
3 Korfos sur Therasia 4 retour par Oia jusqu'à Thira (port)
Much of this series is about complacency, about being trapped in your circumstances without realizing there is a way out. This image really embodies that for me, particularly in the way that we hold on to what we know even when the world around us is shifting; even when we are upside down and lost. To prefer familiarity rather than outside dangers. To rather rot in comfort than find fear in the unknown.
Or at least, that is my personal fear. That is what I see happening around me. That is what I won't let happen in my life.
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"Circuit"
Model: Christin Purcell @jinxedorchid
Part of the series "Interval" for "Fine Art Photography: The Complete Guide" on Creative Live. To see how each image was made: www.creativelive.com/class/fine-art-photography-the-compl...
This is a small exploration of a LEGO circuit board as part of early research for my Clockwork Robot.
www.flickr.com/photos/115928480@N03/15326532556
Front
Checking through my photo folder, I found this one. it remind me of the Sepang F1 circuit in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The circuit no longer host F1 race. The last/final race here was held on 29/9 - 1/10/2017
He stood on the edge of the world, a lone figure suspended between sky and stone. Before him sprawled New Zealand's Southern Alps, their peaks — Poseidon, Sarpedon, Amphion — rising like silent arguments carved from light and ice. The glacier unfurled its pale tongue, an ancient current arrested mid-sentence, its surface rippled with the memory of motion. The air shimmered, crystalline and unrepentant, a cold clarity that cut to the marrow.
Lake Agnes lay below, a still pool, dark and sharp as polished obsidian. It absorbed the landscape without a ripple, the reflection a perfect inversion—mountains upside down, the sky swallowed by earth. The scene was a paradox: immensity caught in a whisper, time paused on the brink of collapse. He felt the grass brittle beneath his boots, the wind threading through the crevices of his jacket—a touch neither warm nor cruel, merely indifferent.
For three days he had wrestled through the entrails of the land. The rainforest had closed around him with a suffocating lushness, roots coiling like serpents beneath the moss. Streams foamed with a glacial bite, the waters quick and thoughtless, bruising his ankles as he waded through. Thorned thickets tore at his skin with the intimacy of old grudges. He climbed slopes slick with rain, his body folded into painful angles, the horizon always receding. When he reached this place, the fog had been thick enough to erase the contours of the world. His tent had trembled in the night winds, the cold seeping in like an unwelcome thought.
But then dawn came, unburdened and lucid. The veil lifted, and the mountains revealed themselves in their raw articulation. They did not posture or proclaim—they simply were, immutable and unscripted. The glacier’s silence was more profound than any roar; the peaks did not loom so much as exist beyond scale.
Here, in this distilled emptiness, the trivial machinery of the world he had fled seemed absurd. The restless striving, the ceaseless revolutions of ambition and vanity—all of it shrank to the size of a pebble lost in a chasm. There was no wheel here to turn, no circuit to complete. Only the landscape, bare and relentless in its honesty.
He filled his lungs, the air sharp enough to taste. It was an act of quiet rebellion, this deliberate witnessing. In that breath, he found not freedom, but a dissolution of need. The lines between man and mountain wavered, softened by the sheer scale of indifference. If he stayed long enough, perhaps he too would become part of this tableau—his form dissolving into lichen and shadow, his presence no more than a pause in the wilderness’s endless thought.
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To explore more of these captured moments and woven words, visit the artist and writer at their sanctuary of creation: www.coronaviking.com