View allAll Photos Tagged consign
First Great Western's (FGW) #57604, "Pendennis Castle"; heads into the setting sun as she crosses Forder Viaduct leading the ten to six departure from Exeter St. Davids to Penzance on Saturday the 14th of August 2014.
La Catedral-Basílica de Nuestra Señora del Pilar de Zaragoza es un importante templo barroco de España. Según la tradición, se trata del primer templo mariano de la Cristiandad, puesto que en él se conserva y venera el pilar —en realidad, una columna de jaspe— que, según la tradición, fue puesto por la Virgen María quien, viviendo aún en Jerusalén, se habría aparecido en carne mortal al apóstol Santiago el día 2 de enero del año 40. Documentalmente no hay pruebas de lo consignado en la tradición, cuyos pormenores datan de 1297 —en una bula del papa Bonifacio VIII— y 1299 —una declaración de los Jurados de Zaragoza—, donde por primera vez se atestigua la advocación de «Santa María del Pilar», tras emprender en 1293 el obispo Hugo de Mataplana una rehabilitación del edificio que amenazaba ruina, gracias a las donaciones propiciadas por la mencionada bula papal
ⓒRebecca Bugge, All Rights Reserved
Do not use without permission.
The ruins of a once might castle, overlooking the river Seine and the town of Les Andelys. It was constructed on order by the British king Richard I (the Lionheart) in the years 1196-1198 - he was also duke of Normandy. He was succeeded by his brother John, who lost the castle to the French in 1204 - the same year he lost all of Normandy.
The castle saw the imprisonment of two royal women in 1314 in the underground part of the castle - Margaret of Burgundy and her sister-in-law Blanche of Burgundy. Both were accused of adultery (the men accused in the affair were executed) and both would become queens, though they were never reunited with their husbands. Margaret died in 1315 from a cold (though there is also the possibility that she was poisoned). Blanche's husband became king in 1322, and the same year the pope had their marriage annulled so the king, Charles IV, could remarry. After this Blanche was released from her prison - consigned to a nunnery. She probably died just a few years later.
In 1333 it became the home of the Scottish king David II and his wife Joan of the Tower (so called because she was born in the Tower of London), and they lived there until 1341.
The castle saw a lot of fighting during the Hundred Years War and switched hands between French and English several times. In 1449 it was retaken by the French for the last time.
In 1573 the castle was falling to pieces and no one lived there, and in 1599 the king Henry V ordered the demolition of the place.
In 1862 Château Gaillard was classified as a Monument Historique
Once an everyday sight now consigned to the history books, 143608 arrives at Cardiff Queen Street as classmate 143606 gets ready to depart with a service to Rhymney.
Extraits Internet :
Une renaissance pour le tunnel des Tuileries ! Le vieil édifice datant de 1960 et fermé aux voitures depuis 2016 va devenir plus qu’un passage pratique, mais peu engageant pour les cyclistes. Depuis le 11 et jusqu’au 24 juillet, plus de 10 street-artistes vont l’entreprendre et le transformer. Leurs œuvres resteront exposées sous terre (au moins) jusqu’à juillet 2023.
Le couloir va devenir une véritable galerie sous-terraine : long de plus de 800 m, chaque artiste s’est vu attitré 40 m à remplir de ses bombes de couleur. Ils conservent toute leur liberté créative pour épanouir leur style, avec une seule consigne : les œuvres devront respecter une thématique parisienne, s’inspirant des monuments et paysages à proximité. De quoi transformer un tunnel sinistre en véritable musée du street-art.
....c'est le petit monde du tunnel des Tuileries
Extraits Internet :
Une renaissance pour le tunnel des Tuileries ! Le vieil édifice datant de 1960 et fermé aux voitures depuis 2016 va devenir plus qu’un passage pratique, mais peu engageant pour les cyclistes. Depuis le 11 et jusqu’au 24 juillet, plus de 10 street-artistes vont l’entreprendre et le transformer. Leurs œuvres resteront exposées sous terre (au moins) jusqu’à juillet 2023.
Le couloir va devenir une véritable galerie sous-terraine : long de plus de 800 m, chaque artiste s’est vu attitré 40 m à remplir de ses bombes de couleur. Ils conservent toute leur liberté créative pour épanouir leur style, avec une seule consigne : les œuvres devront respecter une thématique parisienne, s’inspirant des monuments et paysages à proximité. De quoi transformer un tunnel sinistre en véritable musée du street-art.
Once an everyday sight now consigned to the history books finds 142074 passing Trehafod in the Rhondda Valley. To the right are the old head frames belonging to the Lewis Merthyr colliery which closed in 1983. 2T24 12:36 Cardiff Central to Treherbert.
Tout est sombre et confus! Il faut se laissez guider par la lumière de nos dirigeants et suivre les consignes…
All is dark and confused. Let us be guided by those who no more then us and follow their directives!
Camera: Yashica GSN
Film: Kodak Tri-X, expired
Dev.: HC110, 1:63
Il ne faut pas chercher une beauté technique dans ces photos. Elles expriment une certaine intériorité, une amorce de réflexion, des sentiments, des craintes, des doutes et de l’espoir!
This photo series are there to express some inner feelings, a reflection, fears, doubts and hope!
Merci beaucoup pour votre visite, les gentils commentaires et les favoris. / Many thanks for your visit, kind comments and favs.
St. Anne's Church is a Roman Catholic church in Vilnius' Old Town, on the right bank of the Vilnia River built in 1495-1500 on a wooden house of worship on this spot in honour of Ona, the wife of Vytautas the Great. Behind it stands the Church of St. Francis and St. Bernard.
Napoleon Bonaparte, who was fascinated by the beauty of the church, wanted to take it back to Paris in the palm of his hand. Unfortunately, the reality is not that romantic: during the march of the Napoleonic army through Lithuania, the church was consigned to the French cavalry forces. However, Napoleon did mention in a letter to his wife that „Vilnius is a very beautiful city“.
Maybe I’d allowed myself to get carried away with things a bit too much. While there was no doubting that it was one of my own favourites this year, I later returned to the image, now sitting on my wall in the form of a large aluminium acrylic print and looked at it more critically. Putting to one side the irritation that the printed version lacked the vibrance of the one on my computer screen, I could see that Gull Rock was just a little bit soft, and might have looked more effective if I’d darkened down the shadows a bit more. Of course, it wouldn’t be completely tack sharp from front to back when I’d taken the entire scene in a single frame without resorting to a focus stack. Not even in the middle of the focal range of the wide angle lens at f16 could I expect not to see some imperfections. “Why hadn’t I focus stacked?” I asked myself. I must have been suffering from that sense of “new scene” rush, combined with a limited amount of time, combined with the fact that I was there in the company of visitors who weren’t photographers.
Of course I’d never have reviewed my photo so carefully if it weren’t for the big print that sits over my computer or the fact that I’d entered it into Nigel Danson’s world landscape photographer of the year competition. I don’t do competitions normally because I don’t deal with rejection well, but the fact that the entry fee was going to be of help to Ukrainians persuaded me that perhaps for once I should prepare myself for eventual disappointment. For a day or two I ruminated over my entries, examining potential candidates closely and imagining Mads and Nigel picking holes in them before consigning them to the reject pile. “At least I’ve got that Trebarwith shot,” I told myself. “That one’s definitely in.” Eventually I narrowed it down to five pictures that I believed to be about the best I could manage. A moody winter shot at Wheal Coates threatened to break the rules that had prevented me from entering a single one from my considerably enormous Godrevy gallery. “No buildings,” said the small type “unless they’re incidental to the scene.” I uploaded my five images and waited for Nigel to make the phone call, congratulate me and pop a brand new Nikon kit in the post.
The winning entries were predictably superb, each of them with that added bit of magic that turns a good photograph into something memorable. Did you see them? As I watched our head judge one Sunday morning talking his followers through the prize winners and honourable mentions I was reminded that there is still a very long way to go on this adventure. I’m not expecting to ever win anything of course, but I do want to improve. Mr Danson was also good enough to review some of the submissions that had not completely impressed the galaxy of esteemed judges, with permission from the entrants of course. At least I hadn’t been singled out and shamed for failing to address a lack of balance or an absence of edge patrol, and none of my halos had been highlighted to a watching audience. Nobody had complained that my light source was darker than my foreground or that my focal point wasn’t entirely compelling. Hidden away among the thousands of also rans, there was much I could learn from the experience. And I was still happy with the shots I’d entered, even if they hadn’t appeared on anyone’s shortlist. Ultimately that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? Of course, none of the things I could have done might have advanced my entries further up the final scoreboard, but at least entering a competition for once had found me looking more closely at my own pictures and thinking about how the moods I always try to convey might be backed up with improvements in the technical and compositional departments. Progress is progress. Anyway, even if Mads and Nigel had both been knocked over the head by persons unknown and come bouncing over the airwaves in misguided excitement before sending me the coveted first prize, I’d have only ended up agonising over whether to stick with the gear I know and love or move wholesale to a new mirrorless set up.
Recently I noticed the Trebarwith folder still sitting on my screen, untouched since making straight for the one image that had caught my attention when I’d raced through the day’s results on the back of the camera. It was my first, and to date only visit to a place where I’d somehow managed to stay on my feet on a narrow slippery shelf of rock, before battling for space with four or five other ageing togs on rather more solid footing while the previously unpromising sky began to work some magic above a gentle high tide. Finally, I returned to the perilous green patch where everyone else feared to tread and where the stream that enters the sea cuts through the shelf in a series of attractive swirls and eddies, but not before I’d managed to jostle my way to the front row and capture the setting sun as it turned orange and cast its glow across the hard black slab on which we were standing. And now, three months later I was at last looking through that folder and finding images I’d ignored in the race to publish the one that had drawn my eye at first glance. Trebarwith, it seemed had delivered on that Bank Holiday Monday in May. Somewhere in those moments among the small gaggle of battling togs, the incoming surf had created some foreground interest without covering the orange reflections on the dark rocks.
Ali keeps on mentioning an overnight park up at Tintagel, another place I’ve never made it to in all my years of living in Cornwall. It’s her way of saying “can we go there in the van please?” With locations like this and the sea pool at Bude on offer, it seems daft not to agree really. She won’t mind if the camera bag gets surreptitiously slipped into the overhead cab. I expect an autumn visit is on the cards then.
An Australian White Ibis (colloquially, but unfairly called "bin chickens") crosses the road at the lights in Merivale Street, South Brisbane. Legend has it that anyone running down an iconic Ibis in Brisbane will be consigned to a life in hell clearing rubbish bins. And well, this one made it thankfully and walked down the street with us.
Yet another railway scene consigned to the history books due to the " knitting" . Duchess of Sutherland near Blackrod with an early morning departure from Manchester on a CME to Carlisle.
Even all those years ago the dreaded palisade fencing was making its mark. I seem to recall the bridge that I am stood on divides the local Golf course.
I have attempted to take out an electricity pole to the right of the engine.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dS65-ZvUSSM
Le Dixit Dominus de Georg Freidrich Haendel par John Elliot Gardiner.
Des postures ampoulées, mais des voix aériennes et la musique emmènent et emmènent toujours vers plus d'émotions...
Plus vite, toujours plus vite...
Mais quand vous poser vous vraiment ?
....c'est le petit monde du tunnel des Tuileries
Extraits Internet :
Une renaissance pour le tunnel des Tuileries ! Le vieil édifice datant de 1960 et fermé aux voitures depuis 2016 va devenir plus qu’un passage pratique, mais peu engageant pour les cyclistes. Depuis le 11 et jusqu’au 24 juillet, plus de 10 street-artistes vont l’entreprendre et le transformer. Leurs œuvres resteront exposées sous terre (au moins) jusqu’à juillet 2023.
Le couloir va devenir une véritable galerie sous-terraine : long de plus de 800 m, chaque artiste s’est vu attitré 40 m à remplir de ses bombes de couleur. Ils conservent toute leur liberté créative pour épanouir leur style, avec une seule consigne : les œuvres devront respecter une thématique parisienne, s’inspirant des monuments et paysages à proximité. De quoi transformer un tunnel sinistre en véritable musée du street-art.
I was conflicted while culling shots from 2009, should I save this afternoon shot of Settlement Point, or consign it to the trash can. I relented at the last minute, if it doesn't get 100 views in the first week, its fate will be sealed.
One man's trash is another man's treasure. That old chestnut often bears relevance in my life. The usual manifestation is me pulling to the side of the road to retrieve a leaf blower or some such power tool that someone else has consigned to the trash. I bring it home, fix it up and am good to go, often for years without having to purchase (or find) a replacement. And so it goes with photography. I'm attracted to places that others consider nuisances. This is not learned behavior. It's just the way I was born. It's always been this way so must be genetic. Weird how the gene pool works...not just a love of abandoned places, but the gift of an artistic streak to be able to portray these places in a way that captures the visual that attracts me in the first place. For me it's not simply that a place is abandoned but how that abandonment makes me feel. I tend to view places like this in the context of what once was. It forms a weird overlay between what's in front of me and the days when people actually lived here. And foremost in my vision is showing some sort of juxtaposition of the two worlds. The change of season brought me back to this place. To me autumn marks the end phase of the year, literally the death of summer. A fitting time to visit a place that is also, figuratively, quite dead. I timed my visit to the foliage. Rich autumn hues, but not at their peak. My favorite time is just past peak color when the trees are starting to look bare. I love the look and feel of seeing the grass concealed by a carpet of fallen leaves. And not just fallen but still rich in color and tone. Still supple and not yet withered and dry. All of this color transformed the old house into a scene of beauty. And as I stood here, the sun suddenly emerged from thick cloud cover, quite literally as I was assessing the scene through my viewfinder. In that instant an already beautiful scene became electric as the sunlight brought intense vibrance to the leaves and bounced light into the shadowy areas of the house. Once again I had that sense of uncanny timing to be here at the perfect place and time to pull a proverbial piece of treasure from the trash.
- Paulo Coelho.
|| insta || blog || photostream ||
Posting images of slot canyons, especially from Antelope slot canyons, always gives me a lot of engagement on social media. So much that I consider them cheat posts. I suspect the dramatic changes in light and color grades create a visual impact even as thumbnails that they attract a large audience. This remarkable play of light and shadows, while impressive to behold, was challenging for me to master. When I first visited a slot canyon, I solely relied on HDR photography to capture the scene. While images looked good, it felt like something was missing. As I spent more time looking at slot canyon images, both mine and other talented artists, one thing became clear. It’s the shadows that make these images click. That’s why the HDR images looked ordinary, as they often by default lift the shadows. It also meant that I had to get it close in camera rather than relying on post-processing.
Here are a few strategies that helped me. First, Avoid the sky as much as possible in compositions as the light difference is too much to make sense in a slot canyon image. There are exceptions, but it is better to shoot the sky separately and blend it in later in those scenarios. Secondly, pick your bright areas carefully and balance them with the shadow areas. ETTR or exposing to the right is super helpful here, I often meter at the brightest spot in a scene and push setting until the highlights clip. A quick tip: You can usually push your raw images a little more than what your camera histogram suggests. And the last tip is to white balance correctly, have a grey card or a microfiber cleaning cloth with you, and get the correct white balance. Because the light is limited in a slot canyon, even the best cameras struggle to judge white balance correctly, and it’s hard to get it right in post-processing; at least, that’s my experience. On the other hand, the difference is extraordinary when you get the colors right in a slot canyon. And there it is, all my tips for shooting in a slot canyon.
A sight now consigned to history, as Freightliner have moved over to the Top Yard at Ipswich and their new Vehicle Maintenance Facility.
Assets do occassionally get stabled here, if there are space constraints in the new facility.
"Tiggoz 447" arriving RWY23 from Melbourne {MEL/YMML}...Tigerair Australia have since been consigned to the history books...
Former Royal Air Force English Electric Lightning F.3 XR713/C on display outside Bruntingthorpe's LPG 'QRA' sheds during the 2018 'Lightning Storm' event
Once on charge at RAF Leuchars and used as 'Treble One' Squadron's 'Gate Guard', when the RAF left Leuchars the LPG acquired her
Engineless she compliments their other 'working' Lightnings
On the day '713' was in dual marks - No.111 'Tremblers' and newly applied No.56 'Firebirds' colours on her starboard side along with spoof serial - XR718 and coded 'C'
Sadly, since the airfield was sold, the LPG is now limited to a small fenced enclave around their QRA Sheds.
The two F.6 'runners' being reduced to engine runs only as their spectacular 'Fast Taxi' dashes down Brunter's huge runway are now consigned to history
IMG_4130
Maybe the sleep deprivation was beginning to kick in rather more decisively than I realised as I stood at the edge of the fjord. As I faced across the water, looking up at the mountain beacon that brings so many people to this wild and remote corner of the world, the sky seemed to be filled with strange alien craft, an invasion of cigar shaped forms hovering silently above the unworldly landscape at the edge of the North Atlantic. After nearly thirty-six hours of barely any sleep at all, during which we’d spent about nine of them in the car and three more on the plane, perhaps I was hallucinating. But then again, I reminded myself I was back in Iceland. Everything is different in Iceland. The shapes in the sky weren’t a figment of an insomnia fuelled imagination. Those clouds were real.
This first afternoon, when we made straight for Kirkjufell after checking in and hastily stuffing down a couple of ham and tomato wraps to keep the hunger gremlins at bay, was offering gifts from the very start. After trudging around the marshes to the west, and then stopping at the classic waterfall composition, we turned up our noses at the invitation to part with a thousand krona for the new car park, and instead made for a layby on the road back to Grundarfjörður that we’d spotted earlier. It turned out to be a very useful spot in which to abandon the car because the path back towards the lake and the waterfall area was just long enough to be enjoyable without becoming tiresome. And besides that, there was another big plus as far as I was concerned, and that came in the shape of a third angle from where to train my lens upon the famous landmark in front of me. In fact Kirkjufell itself has the look of some curious intergalactic invader from this position too. Resisting the urge to race back to the apartment and start making sculptures from large mounds of mashed potato, I rubbed my eyes to make sure I hadn’t in fact fallen asleep on that squashed up chair in the main concourse at Luton Airport. Besides which, even potatoes cost a small fortune in Iceland.
While Lee closed his eyes in the passenger seat of the car and tried to reacquaint himself with the concept of shuteye, I set up the tripod low to the water and began to watch as one breezy blast after another chased across its surface, ripples racing over the fjord to create a bowl of textures at my feet. By now, even though I was running on fumes, I barely felt tired at all. Excitement at being back in Iceland was the overriding sensation that kept me clicking away in a contented frenzy, as others arrived to stand and stare a while before moving on. Unlike the waterfall zone, I didn’t have to compete for space or wait my turn to take my shot - I could spread my belongings extravagantly over the small pebbly beach and enjoy the moment. Once I’d finished, I returned to the car, tapped on the window and disturbed the Sleeping Beauty, telling him I was going to walk along the path back towards the lake. A grunt of acknowledgement came from the other side of the window and his eyes closed over again. Who needs sleep when the soul is thirsting for brand new compositions in the ultimate tog’s playground?
It was another edit that seemed to be an awful struggle at first. The only thing I was certain of was that we were again in monochrome territory, as there was barely a hint of colour anywhere, apart from a strangle bluish tint to those extraterrestrial clouds. The shadows were proving to be a particularly challenging aspect of what had been a lively old dynamic range. Quite often I might be quite happy to work with a silhouette in a situation like this, but I wanted something of those lumps, bumps and distinctive layers towards the summit. For a long time I felt as if I wasn’t getting anywhere at all, but those clouds were so extraordinary that I refused to concede and consign the exercise to the bin. Finally the crop tool came to the rescue. I then agonised over whether to go with the thirty-five millimetre image of Kirkjufell alone, or the wider one that brought in the land from the left on the other side of the road and delivered added context. Ultimately a tiny white speck, barely visible on the road between the land masses made the decision to go with the wide option for me. Can you see it? In a sense it doesn’t matter, because I know it’s there - a car with its headlights on, heading towards town and bringing scale to this extraordinary landscape. And above, dead centre in the sky the mother ship makes a flamboyant swirl towards the earth, as if it might just start to hoover up the mountains one by one.
There’s the imagination running riot again. But then again, anything seems possible in a place like this, either with or without sleep.
I have had many great trips to South Wales; this particular morning is certainly remembered fondly; not only because I saw almost 11 different freights in a short four hour window, but especially because of this grid. Happy days!
Taken back on 17th February 2015, a work-stained 56103 approaches the old Somerton Road bridge on the 6Z35 Cardiff Tidal-Stockton empty scrap train. Whilst 56103 later returned to service after been sidelined for a few years, this working was unfortunately consigned to history. This location has also now become partially lost under the electrification masts that have since been erected.
[letras]
Hace unos días me crucé en Instagram con una foto que publicó @unaxicaradecafe y que ella lo había visto publicado x @washitapescba y bueh…! Me uni a la consigna #masamorporfavor
@unaxicaradecafe proponía mas amor a nosotros mismos, a nuestro cuerpo, mas amor con nuestros pensamientos, al escuchar, hacia nuestros vinculos , en nuestros trabajos, etc
www.unaxicaradecafe.blogspot.com.ar/
Yo propongo #masamorporfavor hacia la naturaleza.
Cuidemos el medio ambiente, cuidemos y valoremos la belleza que dia a dia nuestro planeta nos brinda.
Alguien mas se une??
This is one of the least photographed geeps in all the land. For one it is the most northerly based locomotive on the continent, consigned to permanent duty at Eielson Air Force Base 26 miles southeast of Fairbanks....truly the very end of the line and as far as you can get by rail from Anchorage. Second, Eielson, home of the 354th Fighter Wing, is strictly off limits to civilian personnel, and only as an employee of the railroad was I able to access it.
The base is home to a small rail network to support Air Force operations and formerly it handled Jet fuel in tank cars for the air craft based there. While the rail unloading racks are still present and maintained in state of readiness, moving fuel by rail from Anchorage is strictly a back op option to the local supply from the Petro Star refinery in North Pole, Alaska.
The main use of the railroad these days is to switch coal hoppers for unloading at the base power and steam plant. The little 25MW plant seen here in the background was built in 1952 and burns coal mined in Healy and transported hear by way of the ARRC. To learn a little more here is an article on the plant with some photos: www.eielson.af.mil/News/Article-Display/Article/591939/he...
4902 is one of two identically painted GP40-2s both rebuilt from straight GP40s in 1993. This unit was blt. in Dec. 1966 for the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad as their number 928 and would pass to SCL, SBD, and CSXT before being retired and rebuilt.
Eielson, Alaska
Friday July 9, 2010
IMVHO, this has to be the finest car ever built. Styling, class and swooping lines makes this car seem at speed while sitting still.
Best in Show 1997 at the Pebble Beach Concours d'Elegance.
Chassis: 90104
The second, of eleven (11) 'Teardrop's built with the 'New York' style, chassis 90104 was delivered new to prominent orange plantation owner Dr. Fernand Masquefa, who resided both in Algeria and Morocco. He was a great enthusiast and retained the Figoni & Falaschi clothed machine for over forty years, frequently using it in local events. In the early 1980s, he finally sold the car and eventually it was completely restored for its new, Swiss owner. He showed the car at various events in the early 1990s before it was acquired by the current custodian. He had it restored once again and entered it in the 1997 Pebble Beach Concours d'Elegance where it won the prestigious 'Best of Show' award.
This year, (2022), a very similar car, chassis 90107, was consigned to Gooding Amelia Island auction, where it topped the sale with a record breaking price of $13.4 million !!!
A few posts ago I shared another image from Hartland Quay in North Devon with you. I must have been in a bit of a rush at the time because it was only later that I remembered the visit had included a couple of sets of shots which I'd planned to combine into an exposure blend later on. When I got home the shots of nearby Blackchurch Rock that we'd taken earlier in the day took precedence and before I knew it the rest of the day's results had been consigned to a forgotten folder on my hard drive. Recently I've been working through a queue from the archives - there still seems to be plenty of old material left to keep me occupied, even though this weekend I will be able to stand on a clifftop with my camera on a tripod again for the first time since the beginning of January.
This early December adventure was our last outside our home county - albeit just as we headed a mile or two across the border into North Devon. Throughout the afternoon a hard icy blast came straight across the sea at us as it raced towards the land. The prevailing conditions come from the milder west here, and when as now the winds change and bring us Arctic weather from the north and east, the difference is instantly noticeable. It meant donning for the only time so far the woolly balaclava that I've been advised not to wear in the local post office for fear of alarming the unusually elderly staff and having to explain myself at length to a constabulary afterwards. It was a day when only three thermal layers and two coats were enough to enable me to concentrate on photography.
We arrived at Hartland Quay with less than an hour to go before sunset. We'd never been here before, and at first glance options seemed limited. Of course you really need time to get to know a place before you can start to yield the best from it, but there was little time to head onto the coastal path and find the compositions that were almost certainly waiting for us. After a certain amount of deliberation I found myself in the exact same spot I'd walked to on arrival here, gazing at that line of rocks leading out into the water and looking like the bumps on a dragon's back. I decided it would at least give me something to try and work with later - when I eventually remembered to that is.
It seemed a good opportunity to make a time blend - there was a pretty well defined line where even I felt I could blend the two exposures which differing shutter speeds for the sea and sky. I wanted a particularly long exposure time for the sky to capture all of the drama, while the sea needed just a second or two. It's left me with a result which brings back the sensation of how cold and hard that December afternoon was. I like it when a picture reminds me how I felt when I took it - or perhaps I should say them in this case.
We're at that time of year where the last hard blasts of winter are howling past the front door, but it's nearly springtime.
Happy hump day folks!
El Abuelo, el inquilino más ilustre del castañar, tiene una edad estimada de entre 500 y 800 años y está claramente en la fase final de su vida, como muestra su tronco totalmente hueco que a duras penas se mantiene en pie. Sus dimensiones son impresionantes, con un perímetro de 12,50 metros (a 1,30 m) y una altura de 19 m., según consigna un cartel informativo. «Los viejos del lugar dicen que su tronco hueco es capaz de dar cobijo a todo un rebaño de cabras»
Another view that's now consigned to history of the South wales mainline, finds 70809 as it approaches Llanwern with 4C21 Aberthaw - Avonmouth.
37248 - 7B51 (???? from Coed Bach Washery, which was formed of Kelly's containers on FPA wagons) - Swansea Docks 05/05/89.
Good luck to England tonight against our French cousins!!!
A sight that is consigned to history now. The "Night Riviera" sleeper stock now stables at Reading T.C.D now Old Oak has been significantly reduced in size owing to Crossrail/HS2 works. 08836 is currently based at Reading T.C.D, but you won't find a 20mph max speed loco working a 50 odd mile service over a line with a max running speed of 125mph! The 08 & Sleeper stock now also carry the current "GWR" Green company livery. Also owing to the introduction of IET's and 387 EMU's, platforms 1 & 2 at London Paddington have undergone electrification works.
Le Gué, une installation invisible puisque sous l'eau, réalisée par la société CRYSTAL et l'artiste Michel AMMAN, offre aux promeneurs l’expérience inédite d’une traversée à pied du Grand Canal du Parc de Sceaux, ceci jusqu'au 17 septembre.
Une traversée de 137 mètres avec de l'eau jusqu'aux chevilles, tout au plus aux genoux, suivant le niveau du canal, grâce à une passerelle immergée de 6 mètres de large (des balises blanches de chaque côté). Les consignes à respecter sont affichées à chaque extrémité et des maitres-nageurs assurent la surveillance.
www.hauts-de-seine.fr/toutes-les-actualites/detail/avec-l...
Took this image a few years ago when out togging at Beachy Head with Solent Poster.
Struck me as really weird at the time, the yacht did look like it was in mid air. But as the shot didnt really have much artistic merit I consigned it to the hard disk.
Couple of days ago the Daily Telegraph newspaper here in the UK had a similar image of an oil tanker (but no lighthouse in theirs!) Apparently this phenomenon is called a "Superior Looming Mirage" and is very rare, more often seen in the Arctic.
You can sort of see some wave patterns in the area between the yacht and what looks like the horizon in this one of mine.
Anyway, as these things seem in vogue I thought I would post my effort!
Dearest Papa,
I know you are far too taken by the divine madness to read this. When I’m done writing with a weak and trembling hand, I will consign this message to the fire. May its words find you in the shattered cavern of your mind.
I want you to know you raised your youngest daughter well (I can’t vouch for the others, though I have to admit William’s doing well in the vicarage).
A body was found a few days ago, victim of a murder. We have no vicar, no priest, no one else devout in the Church. I knew what you would do, Papa: you would place the eternal torment of another soul above your own.
I stole the body!
After midnight, I dragged it the length of Heterodyne Street, down to the seawall. With the last of my strength I heaved it in, commending his soul to Father Dagon and Mother Hydra. May they accept our sacrifice, fill our boats with fish, and the working girls’ bellies with gilled and scaly babes.
I am back home, damp and shivering, at the very end of my strength despite the fortification of far too many cigarettes. But gazing into the fire, thinking of you, I know I did the right thing.
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.
I love you, Daddy.
I miss you.
Your ever-loving daughter,
Hannah
It looks like some of those newspapers just dropped off from the 06.00 Glasgow Queen Street - Mallaig might be a bit damp after being dumped on the wet platform. A scene enacted daily at the time at many stations but long consigned to history.
One minute you're the flavour of the month, the hot new star of the show and everybody's favourite hurled avian. The next, you're an anachronistic has-been; consigned to a filthy bin, awaiting the crusher, the landfill, the worms. Welcome to reality my friend. It's all downhill from here.
Still early enough for that much-prized deep shadow to still be in evidence.
I did have reservations about consigning the two jewels of Crummock & Buttermere to the periphery, but the very obvious implied symmetry couldn't be ignored.
Now both my arthritic hips have been consigned to the unwanted medical parts bin and replaced by shiny, new ones, it's really very much easier to get to the shoreline at this wonderful cove. The big, slippy rocks just don't seem so daunting as they previously did! Saying that though, the surgeon would probably have a fit if he saw how I'm mistreating his work!
Thanks for looking and thanks folks for the views, comments and favourites on my last few posted images.
Tony
Valentines Day Dawn 2021, another evening another folder consigned to history with a few final images.
Pentax K1 w Irix Firefly 15/2.4
f11 iso 160 -0.7 ev
HDR Merged in ON1 PhotoRaw 2022 color graded in DxO PhotoLab5 and ColoEfexPro 4
"Tiggoz 447" arriving RWY23 from Melbourne {MEL/YMML}...Tigerair Australia have since been consigned to the history books...
Monasterio de Moreruela.
"Su fundación por San Froilán se expuso al catalogar los fragmentos en el primitivo sitio de Moreruela de Távara; luego, créese que fué arruinado; mas no tardó en reaparecer junto a la orilla contraria del Esla, sin que coste cuándo ni el por qué de esta traslación".
La primera noticia probable es una donación de Fernando I, en 1042, a cierto Keia Habse, por vida y luego al monasterio de Santiago Apóstol de Moreriola, de ciertas villas
"in territorio Lampriana", cuyos nombres y términos allí se consignan, y son cerca del actual edificio; además, infiriérese que existiría donde mismo hoy en 1107, al designarse "Morerola de ripa Stole de abbate don Fortes
", como límite del obispado de Zamora, cual sigue siéndolo aún. Probablemente hubo de ir muy a menos la fundación, y en breve se extinguiría, quedando desierto el sitio.
Tapons en plein coeur des fleurs en ce jour où...Le foutographe est un peu cassé, il faut l'avouer... Alors restons dans le jardin de notre ami Lutin (en respectant les consignes sanitaires.... Mais faut avouer qu'un peu de vie sociale ne fait pas de mal, de temps en temps) !
Touaregs, Tassili du Hoggar, Algérie 18-30 décembre 1986
Dans le désert où vécut Charles de Foucauld, 100 ans après sa conversion, je connus aussi une conversion foudroyante, une effusion de l'Esprit qui changea le cours de ma vie.
Alors qu'avec la jeune Aude, j'avais préparé le livret de notre marche de jeunes pros, 5 garçons et 5 filles, de Tamanrasset à l'Assekrem, trek de 12 journées douces et 12 nuits glaciales à la belle étoile que le jeune prêtre Dominique Rey allait vite transformer en véritable pèlerinage, une parole de la Bible que nous avions consigné dans ce livret se réalisa littéralement dans mon âme: "Je la conduirai au désert et je parlerai à son cœur" (Osée 2, 16)
C'était aussi 100 ans jour pour jour après la conversion de Thérèse de Lisieux et Paul Claudel, le 24 décembre 1886. Je rends grâce à Dieu pour ces 3 parrains qu'il m'a donné dans ce désert pour le restant de mes jours.
En ce dimanche de la canonisation de Charles de Foucauld par le pape François, je m'unis à l'action de grâce de tant de personnes qui doivent à la la prière et l'exemple du converti de 1886 un plus vrai cœur à cœur avec leur Seigneur et Sauveur.
Une version nette de cette photo floue a été perdue avec le lot des meilleures diapositives de ce voyage, prêtées et jamais rendues. Pour me consoler de la perte de ces photos dont la qualité avait été jugée par l'équipe du Figaro Magazine digne d'une publication (qui ne s'est pas faîte faute d'un récit les accompagnant), je me console avec la philosophie souriante de mon arrière-grand-mère montrant sa bibliothèque: "Les livres que j'ai prêtés ne m'ont hélas jamais été rendu. Ceux que vous voyez là? Ceux-là sont ceux que j'ai empruntés…"
1986-12 HoggarCaravane 1600
Nikon F3 Kodachrome 64
On December 29th of 2009 NS 66Q had a pretty rare for Toledo KCS leader with a Santa Fe warbonnet trailing for a little added variety. Looking back six years later the increasingly rare at that time Conrail leader on 23K looks pretty good too! The distinctive NYC signals jutting out over the mains have also been consigned to history with a modern tubular structure now standing there alongside Toledo Yard.