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I was lucky to watch the drama between a Red-tail and a squirrel. The Raptor had the squirrel in a bush. The bird walked around on the ground hoping to spook it out. The squirrel stayed put as it chittered with agitation. The hawk finally gave up and flew up into a nearby tree. The squirrel dashed for safety and the bird dove at it. Squirrel got away and the hawk resumed its hunting.
[ Important Announcement ]
The 2025 exhibition has been postponed.
Right now, I’m fully immersed in writing—and I’ve been uploading fragments of that work here.
Among the countless artists around the world, my work may be no more than a mere pebble.
And yet, I still feel compelled to create.
America.
Europe.
And now, Japan—faced with the results of this latest election.
The world is already broken.
I don’t believe for a moment that my novel could fix such a world.
But as I’ve always said, I believe that changing the inner world of a single person can change tomorrow.
That belief remains unchanged.
I have confidence in this novel.
To hurt someone.
To love someone.
Is there a wall that separates us from loving one another?
Is money the most important thing of all?
Is art truly meaningless?
I’ve entrusted everything to this story.
That’s why I’ve made the decision to step away from exhibitions for a year.
If things go well, I may begin publishing the novel between January and February of next year.
If not, it will be around late July 2026.
Right now, I’m consumed with breaking through my own limits.
As entertainment, I believe this novel will bring you joy again and again.
Please look forward to it.
July 19, 2025
Mitsushiro
Images
ELLEGARDEN - Lonesome
youtu.be/m1rgXlLkKDc?si=99vILpcJBIeEOrsP
Shot on iPhone 11 Pro.
Motosuka Beach, Sanmu City, Chiba Prefecture, Japan.
(Today’s photo. It has not been released yet.)
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Exhibition 2026
Theme
The Nightfly
Inspired by my upcoming novel:
B♭ (B Flat)
Images
Taylor Swift – This Love (Japanese Subtitles)
youtu.be/PfJzQuqWSSE?si=Y2g0HzhoVjnR46zS
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Presented by
Design Festa
Venue
Tokyo Big Sight
Schedule
Fall 2026
exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com
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【 重要なお知らせ 】
２０２５年の展示は、延期します。
僕は現在、執筆に集中していて、その断片をここへアップロードしています。
世界中に溢れるアーティストのなかで、僕の作品は石ころのような存在です。
けれども、僕はどうしても描きたいのです。
アメリカやヨーロッパ。そして、今回の選挙結果を突きつけられた日本。
世界はすでに壊れています。
壊れた世界を僕の小説が修復できるなどとは決して思っていません。
僕はこれまでにも書いてきたように、たったひとりの個人の内面を塗り替えることで明日を変えられると信じてきました。
それは、いまでも変わっていません。
僕は今回の小説に自信を持っています。
誰かを傷つけること。
誰かを愛すること。
誰かを愛することに壁はあるのか。
お金がもっとも大切なのか。
アートは無意味なのか。
僕はこの小説にすべてを託しました。
ですので、僕は一年間、展示を見送る決断をしました。
小説の発表は、早くて来年の１月から２月ごろにできるかもしれません。
遅くて、来年の７月下旬です。
僕は今、自分の壁を越えることに夢中になっています。
僕の小説は、エンターテイメントとして、あなたを何度も楽しませるはずです。
楽しみに、待っていてください。
19.7,2025.
Mitsushiro.
Images.
ELLEGARDEN - Lonesome
youtu.be/m1rgXlLkKDc?si=99vILpcJBIeEOrsP
iPhone 11 Pro shot .
本須賀海岸。山武市。千葉県。日本。
(. 今日の写真。それは未発表です。 )
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２０２6年の展示
テーマ
The Nightfly
僕の次の小説。B♭（ビーフラット）
そのイメージになります。
Images.
Taylor Swift … This Love 【和訳】
youtu.be/PfJzQuqWSSE?si=Y2g0HzhoVjnR46zS
Mitsushiro - Nakagawa
主催
デザインフェスタ
場所
東京ビッグサイト
日程
2026年 秋。
exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
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Scene: Garden 3‑4
Jack slumped deeply in the commander’s chair, his gaze sweeping across the pale glow of the monitor wall.
Camera feeds A17, A18, A19—all fixed on the arena’s center. Yet the security guard on the west side of the stands wasn’t watching there. His eyes were glued to the emergency exit at Section 212. Its sensor blinked once—a flash of red warning across the screen.
“A suspicious movement… the door sensor just lit up,” Jack's low voice vibrated through Ben’s earpiece.
Ben glanced upward at the monitors and whispered,
“Shall I go?”
“No,” Jack replied, his voice dropping. “Don’t leave your post. I’ll handle it.”
He paused, stern. “It’s probably nothing. But—stay alert. Keep your eyes peeled.”
Silence fell over each earpiece, the tension thickening. On the monitor, the door remained motionless—neither opening nor closing—frozen in stillness.
Jack burst from the briefing room, sprinted up from underground into the arena, his view sweeping the western stand. He looked up at the broad, flat ceiling of Madison Square Garden, sensed it swelling with the heat of the crowd. Cheers greeting the presidential candidate blended with jeers—clearly, anti‑Republicans had infiltrated.
Jack narrowed his gaze on the west stand, then lowered his eyes to his iPhone. Multiple social feeds scrolled with frenetic energy, and one post caught his attention: a murder threat, flashing in angry red text.
He dashed down the crowded corridor and reached the west stand, addressing a nearby guard:
“Evening. Everything clear on your end?”
The guard, clad in plain black suit with no tie—just a discreet earpiece—nodded, calm. He lifted his jacket slightly, revealing the outline of a Glock 19 at his waist. No hostility—just a tacit acknowledgment. Jack responded with a silent nod, their training speaking volumes.
“Door sensor tripped once. I’ll check visually.” Jack seized the cold metal handle and cast a glance down the corridor beyond. Darkness swallowed the path; silence reigned.
He spoke into his earpiece:
“All clear in the west stands. Security is solid.”
He patted the guard’s shoulder. “Stay alert.” The man returned a brief smile—and then lights died across the arena.
In the dark, red lasers lanced from ceiling to floor as a menacing bass drum rolled in from below. A crisp hi‑hat scythed in sixteenth‑notes; a heavy kick drum struck four‑on‑the‑floor. A low, rumbling bass synth layered in—and the very air of the arena began to pulse.
The crowd's heartbeat synchronized with the beat. Swirling smoke and laser cuts, the floor trembling. From deep within the sound, a processed male voice intoned again and again:
“Strength. Order. America.”
As smoke thickened the light, colossal center-hung screens flickered to life:
J U S T I N B R A D F O R D
One spotlight pierced the gloom—red, then blue, finally white—tracing the American tricolor. Within its glow appeared a man: Justin. Clad in a dark‑navy tailored suit, a bold crimson tie signifying the Republican Party, a single white rose pinned to his lapel.
Moments later, another spotlight revealed Eleanor Blake, dressed in an elegant black gown, standing behind him. Hand in hand, they strode center stage, each step purposeful. The audience looked on, awestruck, shouting cheers:
—“Take back America!”—
Red, blue, and white lights danced across their feet. Eleanor paused; Justin stepped forward to the microphone as the music faded and lights dimmed again. Silence engulfed the arena.
He made no sound—only a slight, assured smile. That smile was a declaration of war. Saying everything without uttering a word. That posture—that was the bearing of a man who would become the most powerful leader in the world: President of the United States.
Justin scanned the crowd for a moment, then spoke in calm tones. His golden hair, blue eyes—mirroring Eleanor’s—lent gravity to his words:
“Good evening, New York. How’s your night going so far?”
He smiled at a woman in the front row. Following his father’s advice, he spoke as if addressing just one person, not an entire audience—
—“When I arrived in the parking lot tonight, I felt weighed down by the humidity. Eleanor whispered to me: ‘We chose the best course to protect you. Our team would risk their lives for you.’”
His voice rang clear. Thunderous applause erupted from tens of thousands. A wave of anticipation rolled toward the stage. The spotlight seemed to center itself in his eyes—and likewise in Eleanor’s.
“Tonight, we gather to put our will once again at the heart of this nation. To reclaim the ‘light’ America is forgetting. Over the past four years, our party restored the economy, brought back security, rebuilt national order. Now, it’s time to shine that light brighter—not as mere hope, but as our responsibility. If America shines again, the world will follow. We must seize that stronger, purer light. It will illuminate the world.”
Justin’s voice reverberated through the arena—until… a dry gunshot cracked the air from center stage.
Jack dove instinctively. His eyes darted upward to the giant screens: time froze. He saw Justin’s body convulse backwards, his jacket tail flipping off his left shoulder. The first bullet struck his left arm, the second to his left abdomen. Justin crumpled slowly, falling face‑first.
“Justin!” Eleanor’s scream cut across the stage. Her wide eyes fixed on him, trembling. A haze of tears blurred her vision. Secret Service agents shielded her, pulling her back.
“Hit the deck!” Guards and crowd shouted in chorus. Pandemonium erupted. Women's screams overlapped. The reverberation of gunfire lingered ominously in the cavernous space.
Unbeknownst to most, Jack’s ears had discerned two shots. He closed his eyes and re‑ran the sound—each fired from above—each from perilously close.
“Ben—where are you?” Jack pushed through collapsing spectators, heading to the stage.
“By Justin’s side. Missed his heart—just grazed left arm and abdomen. Not arterial, but bleeding heavily.”
“Medical team’s on the motorcade. Justin has Bombay blood—two bags ready on the ambulance. Start transfusion.”
“If that’s not enough, what about Elijah?”
“Either way, he’s en route. Bellevue Hospital stores Bombay bags—confirmed three days ago.”
Bombay blood: a rare type first found in Bombay (now Mumbai) in 1952—not A, B, or O—afflicting about 1 in 10,000 in India, 1 in 2.5 million worldwide. It can only be transfused to someone of the same type.
Ben replied calmly.
They rushed Justin to Bellevue Hospital—the closest to the Garden. Jack called Elijah. Before the first ring ended, Elijah answered, breathless:
“Jack... this is bad. We’ve no blood—no Bombay stock.”
Jack couldn’t believe it.
“I saw the bags in person three days ago!”
Silence, then Elijah replied:
“The blood keeper was killed in a car crash yesterday.”
As Jack absorbed the news, his voice boomed over the arena’s PA, shaking the trembling building. The crowd froze and then shattered. Thousands surged toward exits—only to find them locked.
“There’s explosives in this building. Please, stay calm and head for the exits. I repeat—I am….”
Panic rippled. Eight exits in total—most had been sealed for VIP and motorcade security. The crowd funnelled into the remaining three.
Low moans grew to shrieks. People trampled the fallen. A little girl's white blouse had turned grey, her teddy flattened. During flight, no one looked back. At one exit, dozens collapsed, graves to the trampling. The weight buckled railings, jammed the door.
“Doors won’t open!” “There’s children—!” Screams scattered. Security couldn’t reach the scene. Orders were drowned in noise. Control evaporated.
“The crowd is uncontrollable, Jack,” came Zakaria’s voice through the PA, along with a simultaneous link to staff smartphones.
“You got my email? Open the link. No virus, I promise.”
Hurriedly, Jack checked his phone. The site loaded:
“Good evening, New York—and Los Angeles. My name is Zakaria Haddad. My real name. Five years ago, I lived in Gaza. Now I sit in a room many of you recognize.”
On the screen, a brown-skinned man with a trimmed beard—Zakaria—seated in a chair eerily like the Oval Office. Three green-curtained windows behind him—the color favored by Prophet Muhammad. A portrait of Ibn Sina hung on the wall, his gaze deep, delicate—reaching from time’s past to the present.
Zakaria glanced at his watch, then back at camera—an unreadable dark joy flickering in his eyes.
“Breaking news—watch your phone alerts.” Instantly:
Former Democratic President Owen Reed shot at Los Angeles Convention Center
Zakaria hid a wry smile.
“A sad update, America. But don’t mourn. In Gaza, we suffered 55,000 times this. We lost over 55,000 dear souls—and we wept.”
He averted his gaze, clasped both hands, slammed his fist onto the desk. The air thickened. Yet in his eyes brimmed silent tears—quiet sorrow.
“We do not seek money or glory in death. We seek tears equal to the 55,000. Only tears can heal us.”
He rested his elbows, folded his hands, chin supported. A long pause. His eyes twitched with small sorrowful motions.
Zakaria rotated a framed photo toward the camera.
“My family. More precious than my life. Gone in an instant.”
There was no hatred in his voice—only respect and gentle grief. He began again.
“I was one among those 55,000. Even if I perish, their wills persist. I stand here to voice our will.”
He quietly reached into his right drawer, withdrew a Glock 17, chambered a round, and placed the barrel against his temple. His eyes were merciful—gentle, embracing his lost family.
As a Sunni, he stared straight at the camera:
“God bless America.”
Backlit by three blazing windows, he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The dry crack snapped through the room. The camera jerked—then the screen went black.
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Previous notes
3
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Aeon parking lot. Yachimata City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. Shot on iPhone 13 Pro … 1 / 1
イオンの駐車場。 八街市。千葉県。日本。iPhone 13 Pro shot … 1 / 1
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
まだまだ投下します。😃
(最終稿ではありません。)
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場面 ガーデン３−４
指揮官席に深く腰を落としていたジャックは、青白いモニター群をくまなく睨んでいた。
カメラ番号A17、A18、A19──いずれもアリーナ中央を捉えている。だが、スタンド席西側の警備員の視線が集中していたのは、そこではなかった。彼が見つめていたのはセクション212の非常扉だった。その扉のセンサーが、わずか一度だけ、反応を示し、ディスプレイに赤い警告が走った。
「不審な動きだな。ドアのセンサーが一瞬、点いた」
ジャックの低い声が、ベンのイヤピースを震わせた。
ベンは即座に 頭上のモニターを見上げ、囁くように言った。
「行くか？」
「…いや。持ち場は離れるな。俺が行く」
ジャックの声がわずかに低くなった。
「たぶん、気のせいだ。ただし──全員、警戒は解くな。そのまま、周囲に意識を集中しておけ」
それぞれのイヤピースに静寂が落ち、張り詰めた空気で満ちた。
モニターに今映っている扉は、開くことも、閉じることもなく、ただ沈黙している。
ジャックはブリーフィングルームを飛び出し、スタンド席、西側が見渡せるアリーナまで、地下から駆け上がった。
マジソンスクエアガーデンの平坦な天井は、吐き出された人の熱気でいつもより膨らんでいるように、ジャックには見えた。大統領候補を歓迎する声とそれを罵倒する叫び声が錯綜し、鼓膜の奥を揺らした。どうやら反共和党も紛れ込んでいるようだ。
ジャックは、スタンド席西側へしばらく目を凝らしてから、手元のアイフォンに目を落とした。画面には、いくつかのSNSが同時に広がっており、それぞれが激しい書き込みによって文字が流れてゆく。右下の、メタの書き込みに、ジャックは目を留めた。殺害予告のメッセージが走り、赤く灯っている。ジャックは喧騒に満ちた通路を駆け抜け、スタンド席西側へ着くと、警備員へ声を掛けた。
「おつかれ。異常はないか？」
ジャックはさりげなく背筋を伸ばした。ジャケットの背中越しに、腰の中央──背骨の下に沿ってぴたりと固定されたグロック19の存在を確かめた。
「どうも。こちらは異常ありませんよ。何かありましたか？」
黒のスーツで、胸元にネクタイはない、プレーン・クロースの私設セキュリティだ。視線は沈着で、イヤピースから伸びるコードが耳の下に覗いている。男は一瞬、ジャックを睨むように見たが、ジャケットの裾を軽く持ち上げ、ホルスターの形をわずかに見せた。男に敵意はなかった。それが合図だった。ジャックも同じように、背筋を伸ばしながら無言で頷いた。この沈黙こそが、互いの訓練と経験を示していた。
「ドアのセンサーが一度反応した。目視で確認する」
ジャックは、冷たい金属の取っ手を掴み、扉の奥を一瞥した。辺りは暗闇に沈み、静まり返っていた。
ジャックはその場からすぐにイヤピースで伝えた。
「スタンド席西側に異常はなかった。セキュリティーにも問題はない」
ジャックは、男の肩を軽く叩いて、いった。
「引き続き、頼む」
男が笑顔でジャックに挨拶すると、アリーナの照明が一気に落ちた。
闇の中、赤いレーザーがガーデンの天井から床まで、縦横に切り裂き、重く低く唸るような打ち込みの硬質なバスドラがアリーナの底から噴き上がった。ハイハットが16分音符で刻まれ、深く沈むキックドラムが四拍を正確に打つ。そこに、低くうねるベース・シンセが重なり、会場全体の空気そのものが脈打つように震え始めた。
観客の鼓動が、低く分厚い音にシンクロし始めた。スモークが舞い、赤いレーザーが切り裂く中、床の震えが増していった。低いベース音に重なった奥から、加工された男性の声が繰り返し聞こえてくる。
“Strength.（強さ） Order.（秩序） America.”
場内のスモークが、光を濁らせるようにさらに舞うと、巨大なセンター・ハング・スクリーンに文字が浮かび上がった。
J U S T I N・B R A D F O R D
その瞬間、中央のスポットライトが、ひとつだけ点いた。赤から青へ──そして白へと、アメリカの三色をなぞるように変化する演出だ。
その光の中、男が姿を現した。
ジャスティンだ。ダークネイビーのテーラードスーツに、共和党を示す真紅のネクタイを巻いている。胸元には一輪の白いバラのピンバッジが添えられていた。
数秒遅れて、彼の背後にもうひとつ光が射した。漆黒のドレスを纏ったエリノア・ブレイクがスポットライトを浴びている。
ふたりは笑顔で手を取り合うと、ゆっくりステージ中央へ歩み始めた。彼らの歩みに迷いはなかった。強さと秩序の意志を現した姿に、観客の誰もがその姿を見上げ、歓声を上げている。
ー アメリカを取り戻せ！ ー
マイクスタンドへ近づくにつれ、アリーナの熱はさらに帯び、波のようにうねった。
赤、青、白の光がジャスティンらの足元を錯綜した。
エリノアを残し、ジャスティンは、一歩前に出て、マイクの前に立った。
音楽が静かにフェードアウトし、照明が再び落ちていく。
── その瞬間、全アリーナが沈黙に包まれた。
彼は、何も言わず、ただ口元に微笑みを浮かべた。その微笑みが、宣戦布告に等しかった。
語らずに、何かを語っている。
それが、世界でもっとも権力を持つ、アメリカ大統領の姿勢なのだ。
ジャスティンは、しばらく観衆を見渡してから、穏やかな口調でいった。エリノアと同じ金色に煌めく髪とブルーの瞳が、彼の言葉をさらに支えるようだ。
「こんばんは。ニューヨーク。今日は、いいことがあったかい？」
ジャスティンは、微笑みながら、最前列の女性に問いかけた。彼は、父のルールを守っていた。多くの聴衆に語るのではなく、たったひとりの身近な人へ言葉を伝えるのだ ーー
「僕は今日、駐車場に着いた時、気が滅入ったよ。ひどい湿気に陰鬱になった。でも、ここにいるエリノアが僕に言ったんだ。あなたを守るために、スタッフは最善の手段を選んだ、とね。そして、スタッフはみな、僕のために命を賭けてくれると」
歯切れよく言い切ったジャスティンの言葉に、再び観衆は沸いた。数万人の熱波がステージへ押し寄せた。
ジャスティンの目には、ステージにあった光を収束させたような輝きがあった。もちろん、エリノアの青い瞳にもだ。
「今夜、僕らがここに集まったのは、それぞれの意志を、再びこの国の中心に叩き込むためだ。アメリカが忘れかけている“光”を、もう一度我々の手に取り戻すためだ。この4年間、我が党は経済を立て直し、治安を取り戻し、国家の秩序を再構築した。今、私たちはその“光”をもっと強く照らす時に来ている。それは、ただの希望ではない。責任だ。アメリカが再び輝けば、世界はそれに倣う。そして、もっと強い、鮮明な光を私たちは手にしなければならない。アメリカが強い光を取り戻すことで、世界をくまなく照らすことができるのだ。私たちには、もっとそれができるはずだ」
ジャスティンの声が、再び会場を震わせた瞬間、乾いた銃声が響いた。ステージ中央あたりからだ。ジャックは音と同時に身を屈め、アリーナの頭上に展開した巨大なセンター・ハング・スクリーンに目をやった。ジャックには映る全ての時間が止まっていた。ジャスティンの身体が弾けたように背後へ揺れた。ジャケットの裾がゆっくり翻り、左肩から崩れてゆく。たぶん、最初の弾は左肩に着弾した。その後、再びジャスティンは前屈みになった。二発目は左腹部だ。ジャスティンの身体は、床へスローモーションのように崩れ落ち、うつぶした。
「ジャスティン！」
エリノアの矯正がステージに響いた。大きく見開いた瞳が、一点を見つめまま、細かく揺れている。一瞬にして透明な薄い膜が幾重にも重なって滲み、零れた。
ジャスティンへ近づこうとするエリノアの体を前面から覆うようにしてSPが抑え込み、引き離している。
「伏せろ！」というSPと観客からの声が同時に周囲を支配した途端、観客席は混乱に包まれた。
女性らの悲鳴が錯綜し、誰か、とやはり別の女性の声がかぶさった。すでに消えている銃声の余韻が、巨大な会場に重く残って覆っている。
ステージにいた者以外は、一聴しただけでは気づかなかったがジャックの耳は聴き分けていた。弾は間違いなく２発だった。騒然とした場内をよそに、ジャックは静かに目を閉じた。発射音から着弾までを想像した。一発目の弾は、ジャスティンのほぼ頭上からだった。そして、もう一発もだ。発射音から着弾までの様子からしておそらくかなりの近距離だ。
「ベン、どこだ」
ジャックは、出口へ卒倒してゆく観客らを抗うようにしてステージへ近づいていく。ベンの冷静な声がすぐに聞こえてきた。
「ジャスティンのそばだ。心臓ははずれているが、左肩と左腹部をかすめているようだ。動脈には達していないが出血がひどい」
「車列にあった救護班がすぐにいく。ジャスティンはボンベイブラッドだ。救急車にブラッドバッグが二つ備えてある。とりあえず輸血するはずだ」
「足らなかった場合は、イライジャのところか？」
「いずれにしても搬入だ。ベルビュー病院にブラッドバッグが保管されている。予備の輸血だ。三日前に確認した」
ボンベイブラッドとは、１９５２年にインドのムンバイ、旧ボンベイで初めて確認された、通常のA、B、Oには分類されない特殊な血液型だ。インドでは１万人にひとり程度だが、世界的には２５０万人に１人ともいわれているもので、同じボンベイ型からボンベイ型への輸血しかできない。
ベンは、冷静にわかったといった。
マジソンスクエアガーデンに最も近いベルビュー病院にジャスティンを運び込む。ジャックは、病院で控えているイライジャに直接電話した。ワンコールが切れる前にすぐイライジャは反応した。
「ジャック、大変だ。血液がない。ボンベイブラッドがないんだ」
ジャックは、耳を疑った。
「三日前に、俺は直接担当の、名前は忘れたな。とにかく目の前でブラッドバッグを確認したぞ」
イライジャは、数秒の沈黙の後、応えた。
「その血液の管理者は、きのう、交通事故で亡くなったんだ」
ジャックがその言葉に沈黙していると、場内にジャックの声でアナウンスが流れた。すでに震えているガーデンをさらにその声が震わせた。ジャックは、再びスクリーンに目をやったが、音声だけがジャックの声だった。
「みなさん、落ち着いてください。私はシークレットサービスのジャック・バンスです。この建物には爆薬が仕掛けられていますが、みなさん、落ち着いて、出口へ向かってください。繰り返します。私は….」
場内の空気が一瞬にして、硬直した。同時に、崩壊した。パニックはすぐに伝染した。数千の観客は、波紋のように大きく揺れ、一斉に出口へ傾れ込んだ。しかし、ジャスティンへの発砲と同時に出口は封鎖されていた。
メインアリーナの出入口は合計8つ――だがその多くは、来賓警備や車列誘導のためにすでに封鎖されていた。群衆の大半が、残された3つの出入口に集中した。
低い声から高い叫び声。倒れた人間を踏みつける足。転倒した白いブラウスの少女はすでに黒ずんでいる。小さな熊のぬいぐるみの顔が真っ平らになっている。
人は、逃げるときに後ろを見ない。出入口の一つでは、すでに数人が折り重なるように倒れ、その上をさらに何十人もの足が越えていった。荷重により手すりが歪み、出口の一部が完全に塞がれる。
「ドアが開かない！」
「子どもが――！」
叫び声が乱れ飛び、場内警備は現場への到達すら困難な状態だった。あらゆる指示が雑音にかき消され、もはや群衆は誰の言葉も聞いていなかった。
制御不能の肉の波――それが、人間の集団というものだった。
「この程度の混乱ではなかったぞ、ジャック」
ザカリアの声が切ったはずのPAから場内へ響いた。同時に、ジャックら警備スタッフへのスマートフォンへリンク先の案内がいっせいに届いた。
「メールが届いただろう？ リンク先を開け。安心しろ、ウィルスは除去済みだ」
ザカリアが笑いを抑え、皮肉混じりにいった。
ジャックは後ろポケットから慌てて、アイフォンを開いた。１件のメール着信を開くと、サイトが現れた。
「こんばんは、ニューヨーク。そしてロサンゼルス。私の名前はザカリア・ハッダード。本名だ。５年前、ガザに住んでいた。今は、みなさんがよく目にする部屋を真似た部屋に私はいる」
褐色の、顎髭をたくわえたザカリアは、アメリカ大統領執務室とほとんど同じ部屋の椅子に座っていた。背後に見える三つの大きな窓には、グリーンのカーテンが掛けられている。預言者ムハンマドが好んだ色だ。
壁面には、剣ではなく詩と理性で世界を導こうとした男、イブン・シーナーの肖像画が掛けられていた。その眼差しは、ワシントンよりも深く、リンカーンよりも繊細なもので、遥か遠く、消え去った時間の底からこちらを見据えているようだった。
ザカリアは腕時計に目を落としてから、再び、カメラに視線を向けた。目には言葉にできない喜びのような暗い影が落ちている。
「そろそろブレイキングニュースだ。スマートフォンの速報に注目して欲しい」
ザカリアがそういった途端、速報が流れた。
【民主党前大統領のオーウェン・リードがロサンゼルス・コンベンション・センターで銃撃された模様です】
ザカリアは、一瞬俯いて笑いを堪えながらいった。
「悲しい速報じゃないか。アメリカのみなさん。でもどうか悲しまないで欲しい。私が経験したガザではこの55,000倍だ。55,000人以上の大切な人を失い、そして、涙を流した」
ザカリアはカメラから目を逸らし、俯いた。そして両手を固く握りしめ、力強く机を叩きつけた。部屋の空気が硬直した。重く固まった空気が画像からも伝わってくる。しかし、顔を上げたザカリアの目にはうっすらと涙が溢れていた。静かな涙だった。
「私たちは、お金を求めない。また、死による名誉も求めない。私たちが欲しいのは、55,000人が流した涙と同じだけの涙だ。流された涙と同じだけの涙だけが、私たちを癒す」
両肘を机につき、両手を組むと、ザカリアは静かに顎を乗せた。目を閉じて、しばらく沈黙が続いた。目尻が細かく震えているようだった。
ザカリアはデスクにあったフォトフレームをカメラへ向け、反転させた。
「私の家族だ。私の命よりも大切な家族だ。すべて一瞬で奪われたよ」
彼の言葉に憎しみはなかった。語尾には、亡くなったものへの敬意とたくさんの優しさを詰め込んだ静けさが含まれている。続けて、ザカリアはゆっくり口を開いた。
「55,000人のうちの私はひとりに過ぎない。私が消えても55,000人もの意思は決して消えず、引き継がれる。私は、私たちの意思をここに表明するためにいる」
ザカリアは、向かって右手の机の引き出しにそっと手を伸ばした。引き出しから、グロック１７を取り出すと、スライドしてチャンバーに弾を流した。そして、銃口を自分のこめかみに当てた。ザカリアの目からは憎悪は消えていた。穏やかで、亡くなった家族を包み込むようなやさしい眼差しだった。
スンニ派である彼は、まっすぐにカメラを見つめ、いった。
「神のご加護を。アメリカ」
執務室の三つの窓から差し込んだ眩い逆光の中、ザカリアは、静かに目を閉じると、トリガーを真っ直ぐに引いた。乾いた銃声が部屋に響いた。一瞬、カメラが横へぶれたが、映像は瞬時に黒へ切り替わった。
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これまでのメモ
3
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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#Exhibition #デザインフェスタ #デザフェス #designfesta #tokyobigsight #東京ビッグサイト #iPhone #アイフォン #アップル #イオン #駐車場 #やちまた #八街 #八街市 #yachimata #yachimatacity #cityofyachimata #saipan #サイパン #アメリカ #USA #Japan #Manhattan #Newyork #日本 #千葉 #小説 #Chiba #novel #B♭ #ビーフラット #テイラースウィフト #TaylorSwift #本須賀海岸 #山武市 #千葉県 #日本 #Motosuka #Beach #Sanmu #City #Chiba #Prefecture #Japan
ID
3257
Listing Date
8 October 1981
History
Formerly 2 premises, both the of mid C19 and shown on the 1889 Ordnance Survey.
Exterior
A 3-storey public house of cream-painted pebble-dashed walls, slate roof, roughcast stack to the L and brick over roughcast stack to the R. Openings are grouped 2 3, indicating that it was formerly 2 premises. They have smooth-rendered architraves and in the ground and 1st-floor windows have segmental heads, with keystones to the ground floor. On the L side (No 19) is a double-panelled door with side and overlights, under a modern deep flat canopy. Further L is a 16-pane horned sash window. It has a similar single 1st-floor window with keystone (the wall is blank above the entrance with painted sign), and in the 2nd floor are replacement 2-light and 1-light windows. On the R side (No 21) a through passage occupies the L-hand bay, R of which are 2 reinstated 16-pane sash windows (in place of a plate-glass shop window recorded in the previous survey of 1975). In the 1st floor are 16-pane hornless sash windows and in the 2nd floor 2-light casements, of which the upper section of each has small panes, below the eaves.
The passage has replacement doors and window. The rear is rubble stone, with a vertical joint on the R side of the passage, indicating that the passage is integral with the former No 21. The R side (No 19) has a 2-window rear with replacement windows in C19 openings with brick heads, except for an enlarged window to the R in the 1st floor. Against the ground floor is a 1-storey gabled projection of cream-painted render. On the L side (No 21) is also a 1-storey projection. The 3-window rear of No 21 has mostly enlarged windows.
Reasons for Listing
Listed as a former pair of houses retaining definite C19 character, and for its group value within the historical townscape.
britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/300003257-george-and-dragon-...
With N°50008 leading the ‘Merry Wherry Railtour’ under haddiscoe bridge, myself and a handful of other photographers dashed over the A143 to capture GBRF livery N°50007 on the rear
Just about th pack up because of bad light and the Yarmouth Lifeboat dashed along towards Hurst Castle, showing its blue light, going to an emergency off the Needles.
Returning home from a rail photography trip I noticed the sky going through some interesting patterns and colours post sunset. I dashed towards the river to try and portray the amazing colours.
Photo By Steve Bromley.
WILL BE AWAY UNTIL SUNDAY ( Back to Maria Island ) See ya when I get back !!
ID
3306
Listing Date
23 September 1950
History
A C16 or early C17 house with a rear wing that is possibly contemporary. The front was remodelled in the C19, incorporating a shop front that has since been altered.
Exterior
Belongs to a group of 20-22 High Street.
A 2-storey 3-window house and shop of whitened pebble-dashed front with black-painted smooth-rendered plinth and imitation timber-framing in the upper storey, steep slate roof, reduced stone stack to the L, central brick stack and projecting 1st-floor stack to the R gable end. The building has been subdivided at ground-floor level into a 2-window house on the L (No 22) and 1-window shop on the R (No 20).
The shop has a symmetrical front with panelled stall riser, plate glass windows with colonnettes, fascia and billet frieze to the cornice. It has a central recessed glazed door with lower panel, and overlight. No 22 has pilaster strips in the lower storey. Its central entrance is reached up slate steps, with scrollwork iron railings. Its replacement half-glazed fielded-panel door is under an earlier lozenge-pattern overlight. The entrance is flanked by a 20-pane hornless sash window on the L, and similar 16-pane window on the R, both with eared and lugged architraves with pediments. First floor hornless sash windows are 20-pane to the R and L and 16-pane in the centre.
Gable ends and rear are of rubble stone. In the L gable end the stonework is uneven, suggesting partial rebuilding. On the L side are inserted ground and 1st-floor windows. The rear has 2 1st-floor 2-light casement windows above a pebble-dash lean-to with fixed small-pane and C20 steel-framed 2-light windows. A replacement doorway is in its splayed L end.
The 1½-storey rear wing is in line with the L gable end. It has a large rear lateral stack offset to the L, the upper part of which is rebuilt in brick. Facing the courtyard at the rear of the house the openings are all altered. At the L end is an original timber lintel over a later half-glazed door and small-pane window. Next R is a half-glazed door under an original timber lintel. Further R are a fixed inserted window, then C19 brick segmental heads to a boarded door and another fixed window. The attic has a shuttered opening to the L and a larger opening to the R infilled with C20 glazing. The gable end of the rear wing, where the ground level is higher, has an inserted panel door in a concrete surround to the attic. The rear, facing the entrance to Bull Cottages, has a small-pane 3-light casement window under a wooden lintel.
Interior
In the 1st floor, at the R-hand end over the shop, is an original fireplace with stone shouldered lintel. The rear wing has 2 rooms with joist-beam ceilings, one with run-out stops, and a large fireplace with timber lintel.
Reasons for Listing
Listed with No 20 as a house of C16-C17 origin retaining original detail but with C19 front of definite character, and for group value within the historical townscape.
britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/300003306-ye-old-mansion-hou...
I hadn't been to a pub for years. Not on my own anyway. So it was with some uncertainty that I was doing a wise thing when I walked in through the doors of The Wharf. It wasn't busy at all. Sunday early evening. There were a few couples having a quiet drink and some groups in three's or fours....a family of five with young kids sat at tables having some pub food. And down the noisier end a group of younger men, and other drinkers stood watching the large screen. I winced slightly. Manchester United 1 - Liverpool 1. And it seemed United might have the edge the way the biased group in front of the screen were urging their team on in the dying minutes. I wanted Liverpool to win.
I went to the bar and ran my eyes along the taps hoping to see something interesting but it was the usual run of the mill "common" beer on sale. I searched down behind the bar for something tastier in bottles and had almost given up hope when I spotted a solitary bottle of Samuel Adams. It would do. An old favourite, but I would have liked to discover something new. The barman uncapped the bottle and poured it into a glass, set it down on the bar and said, "Will that be all?" I might have said "Yes" but a second thought made me say, "And I'll have a Jägermeister too please". I thought for old times sake. Happy Finnish memories.
Picking up the drinks I turned to find a spot to drink it quietly, and realised there was a darker corner with a real fireplace blazing away. There were small round wooden tables, couch on one side, stools on the other. I headed for the one closest to the fire, seating myself on the couch looking across the table and towards the fire, bar area to my right. I chose the Jägermeister first. Just half of the shot glass. I let the warming liquid sit in my mouth for a short while, tingling my tongue, before I swallowed it down, enjoying that special glow that emanates across your whole chest as I watched the flames dancing in the fireplace.
I was hardly aware of the patch of light that fell in from the pub door when it opened, nor of the dark shape that that crossed that illuminated area to the bar. Nor did I hear the person ordering a drink, but something, some sixth sense made me turn to look as the figure came into my quiet corner of the pub. He came closer and stopped in front of the fire before swivelling around to decide where to sit. I suppose I was watching him. But pretending not to. Relaxed and casual was the way I presumed I looked. But he?
Medium height. He wore a scarf wrapped over his head and under his chin. Woollen hat pulled over the top. And a heavy full length khaki woollen World War 1 military greatcoat, as if he had just come in from the trenches. He held his pint glass of bitter in a gloved hand...green woollen mittens. Those ones with no finger tips.
My lips must have parted, a little in surprise, my eyes going into wide-angle focus to notice the heavy walking boots in the shadow below the hem of the great coat. I think I held my breath, not quite sure what would happen next, as he swivelled at the hips once more to look round at all the other empty tables and chairs, before looking down to me and saying in a well educated English voice, "Do you mind if I sit here?" pointing down at the four legged stool on the opposite side of 'my' table. I have no idea if a little shock showed on my face, as he started to lower himself onto the stool, whilst extending an arm across the table to shake. "I'm Mike" he said a friendly smile breaking out on his mouth and in his eyes. "So am I", I smiled back as we shared a single firm, but warm, handshake.
"Why the f--k did he pick on me?" I'm thinking as he started to unbutton the greatcoat from the top. He must have been roasting in there. but always one to engage in a bit of friendly conversation, I said, "Have you come far?" in a bit of a secret jibe about his attire, as I lifted my Sam Adams to my lips to hide behind the glass and await his answer.
He moved his mouth as if to answer before levelling his eyes with mine, looking directly into them. He peered intently and I felt uncomfortable under the stare. hooded eyes that told you they had seen a lot. He let out a sigh, before his face dissolved into a smile, as if it was quite funny and said" Yes. I suppose I have. Quite a long way!"
"Forty four years long"
"All around the world"
"And I still haven't found what I am looking for!"
And he paused, reflecting on the memories in his head. The journey. Looking away now into the flames of the fire. He sat still, and then I saw him shake his head, as if trying to shake off some invisible shackle and pull himself back into the real world.
"Somewhat bravely I ventured, "What were you looking for?"
The question seemed to strike something and he looked at me again more intensely, I thought, checking that I might want to hear the answer: checking that I wouldn't scoff at or ridicule his reply. His eyes dropped to the table as he gathered his words. "I was looking for a good woman".
"Oh jeez" I thought this is going to be an adventure of a story, if the guy isn't completely mad!
A heavy sigh and a deep breath, and he started. " I just decided one day to go. I hadn't decided where. It could have been North, South, East or West. I decided to go East into the rising sun. And I loaded up my car with a few essentials and off I went. East. Belgium, Germany, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia. Day after day. Exploring, deviating, wandering towards the eastern horizon. Always east to the Russian border. Moscow and down into Kazakhstan. And then across China. So vast". His thoughts trailing away into the distance.
"I saw so much. So many adventures" He paused and I noticed his eyes were misting up a bit. His pint untouched on the table. "And then I headed down through North Vietnam, to the south, into Cambodia, Thailand and Malaysia, all the way to Singapore. I sold the car there and flew down to Australia and bummed round the whole country before crossing to New Zealand, North and South Islands"
"I've got contacts in the shipping world and managed to get a cargo ship across to the south of Argentina. I bought a car there took it across the Andes into Chile and up to Peru"
Again I saw him shake his head, his mind lost to sights and experiences far away, as if in another lifetime. Helping him I said, "Did you make it to North America?"
"Ah yes!" I flew to Los Angeles and hired an RV. Drove right across the South West: Arizona, Nevada, Utah, Colorado and up the Mid West to Chicago and into Canada. Toronto, Montreal and out to Nova Scotia. And eventually I drove down to Boston and New York and flew home. I never made it to Africa. I always wanted to cross the Sahara desert. Like Lawrence of Arabia".
"And now I'm here", he said picking up his pint, holding it at eye level to peer into the brown liquid. Leaning forward he put his lips to the rim of the glass and drank deeply, gulping down the glassful. Once more he seemed to slip into reflective mood staring down into the empty glass in his hand.
"I'm writing a book about my journey, I am" he suddenly said.
"Ooooh!" I said, interestedly. "And in it do you find your good woman?" . A look of horror crossed his face. "What's the time?" he urgently demanded.
Taken aback I checked my watch. "A quarter past five" I told him. Immediately he rose to his feet buttoning the huge coat, muttering, "I've got to go, I've got to go!"
Perplexed at the curious behaviour and still enthralled to hear more about his journey of a lifetime I said, "What's your name? I would like it. So I can watch out for your book?"
But he was already a step away from his stool when he looked back over his shoulder as he headed for the door, "It's Mike, Mike Newton! Bye, I gotta go!" and he disappeared out the door.
My hearing's not that good. Did I just mis-hear him? Had he just said his name was exactly the same as mine?
A thought crossed my mind and I dashed to the door. Pulling it open I stepped out barging into two young men having a smoke on the step. Ignoring their angry looks I looked up and down Canal Road. But there was no sign of the man in the greatcoat. Turning to the two smokers I said, "Where did he go?"
They looked at me puzzled, indignant at the way I had pushed them aside in my haste to get outside, "Who you after?" one said. "No one has come out of the pub. Only you."
(I'm continuing to write...…..as you read this...…….assuming you are. Sunday evening washing up to do, and then I will be back into the flow with a glass of red and this playing www.youtube.com/watch?v=sazPEkee3Dg
Conditions looks perfect for a lovely evening but a blanket of cloud rolled in during the "magic" hour and dashed my hopes. However I was just able to capture the dying embers of warm light.
Mamiya C330S
55mm Sekor
Velvia 50
Another clear Auckland winter night, out in the Waitakeres. The cool air was loaded with moisture, making the torch beam really stand out. Dashed round to light paint the sign at the end of exposure. LED fairy lights hanging behind sign give me the 'Octarine' glow
I haven't seen a Kingfisher since beginning of the year, so this brief sighting was very welcome. Could not get close but managed a couple of shots before it dashed into the distance.
November 9th, I was doing my weekly grocery run in Jay when I got word the Pan Am OCS had left Waterville for another trip west, this time with a non-typical leader. I hurriedly finished up, got home, put everything away, got myself ready for another nightshift at work, grabbed my camera, and ran out the door. I dashed to the city line between Lewiston and Auburn for the one shot I knew I could get and still be in time for work. I wasn't disappointed, the light was perfect and the scene was too. A freshly painted C40-8 (MEC 7542) leads the OCS over the Androscoggin River on it's way west.
I never thought that the next photo I would be posting would be a goodbye to Baby Rupert.
Since Shane brought him home, I must admit I have devoted myself to him spending virtually 24 hours a day with him and sleeping on the sofa so I could be there for him and also to make sure that he was safe from the other cats.
Last night we decided to put him in the ensuite so I could come to bed as I was feeling a tad exhausted.
Everything was fine with him, Shane got up a couple of times during the night to make sure he was ok because we are both big softies and love our animals.
Shane woke me this morning saying there was something dreadfully wrong with Rupert, he was limp, contorted and lying in his own waste.
Wrapped him in a towel and dashed to the vets. Our vet saw him straight away and I couldn't believe it when she said he was barely clinging onto life and that there was absolutely nothing that could be done for him.
Going from how he was contorted and how quickly he was dying she believed it may have been a brain lesion. Nothing we could have foreseen or known about.
We stayed with him and told him he was loved whilst the vet did the only thing she could do and that was to put Rupert to sleep.
Forgive me if I don't visit my Flickr family for a couple of days as I am absolutely devastated.
I took this a couple of weeks ago at our friend Evelyn's home where we had a fantastic Flickr meet. I had meant to post it a lot earlier but Rupert came into our life and I got a bit distracted!
Black Hairstreak / satyrium pruni. Glapthorn Cow Pasture, Northamptonshire. 14/06/17.
I experienced the bitter-sweet joy of finding a basking Black Hairstreak when I visited Glapthorn recently. All my photographic aspirations that day were dashed by a mere tilt of the wings.
At rest BHs actually stay still long enough for a few images to be made. Having gorged itself on nectar, this one suddenly flew a short distance and landed. The leaf it chose was in an uncluttered, accessible, low position - even better!
Quickly I composed the image in my viewfinder with its closed wings held vertically and all of its body in focus - too good to be true!!
Well clearly, it was too good to be true as the resulting image proves. Just as I was about to fire the shutter, the butterfly decided to list to one side ever so slightly, (as they do). Without moving a single leg and holding head perfectly still, it tilted its wings enough to throw them out of focus. Bother!!!
She dashed by me in painted on jeans
And all the heads turned because she was the queen
In the blink of an eye I knew her number and her name yeah
And she said I was the tiger she wanted to tame
Caribbean Queen
Now we're sharing the same dream
And our hearts they beat as one
No more love on the run
I lose my cool when she steps in the room
And I get so excited just from her perfume
Electric eyes that you can't ignore
And passion burns you like never before
I was in search of a good time
Just running my game
Love was the furthest
Furthest from my mind
Caribbean Queen
Now we're sharing the same dream
And our hearts they beat as one
No more love on the run
Another not wonderful shot given the Mercedes that dashed into shot at the last moment but here is Arriva London HA7. This ADL E40H MMC City is on the 78 and is seen on Bishopsgate.
The first time I met Juano was intended only to be a chat about how we might work together. However, when the most almighty downpour I can remember this year began, I wrapped the camera in a plastic bag and we dashed outside for an impromptu shoot.
Glasgow, 2009.
Well Im back, what have they done to my flickr site, its rubbish, and cant work out anything!! Back from a fully inclusive holiday in lake como, chosen by my wife, have eaten, drunk and had to much sun, no birds! but what do you do when you see these beauties going past the floating swimming pool, grabbed my camera,and dashed down from our third floor balcony, to grab a few images before it dived out of sight. hope you like this large and elegant diving duck.
Thank you for your visit, have a lot of catching up to do, any comments are greatly appreciated, not sure where the people I follow are in the new set up, ......Stay safe..Tomx
April 16, 2025.
Moores Creek National Battlefield; commemorates the 1776 victory of a thousand patriots over about eight hundred loyalists at Moore's Creek. The battle dashed the hopes of British provincial governor Josiah Martin for regaining control of North Carolina for the Crown. The loyalist defeat simultaneously ended British plans for an invasionary force to land in Brunswick Town.
The fawn casually crossed the road in front of my car and just stood looking at me curiously for quite a while as I furiously dug out my camera and turned it on. I managed to snag one decent shot before he ambled into the corn field. I waited to see if there would be a second one, as they often travel in pairs. After a few minutes I gave up and got back into the car, turned off my camera, and started to drive forward. THEN the second one dashed across. I should have known.
We heard this very vocal Kingfisher before we saw it. Then it dashed by us and around a stand of Mangroves on the beach. We saw it perched briefly. They are a very shy species and readily fly off some distance when disturbed. This is the nominate race saurophagus, another race occurs in the Bismarck Islands.
came across this gem in a parking lot across from my son's school.
i got a few iphone pics and thought I'd get some with my "big" camera the next morning.
Well the next morning came and she was gone.
The hopes and dreams I had for her and I were all dashed.
bench monday, family portrait, flare friday?
All I'm left with are a few iphone pics and the memories of what could have been.
There was only a one-day window of decent weather between a snow event and the arrival of arctic conditions, so we dashed to Prairie Mountain. The wind was howling at the top as usual, but didn't pose a problem. We ascended the normal route up the south flank, but took the long way back, descending the northwest flank and following Prairie Creek. We walked over 11 1/2 km's return distance, gaining around 840 m's with all the ups and downs, taking 4 1/2 hours to do so.
Though the Rim Drive that circumscribes Crater Lake is only 33 miles in length, you can spend many hours cruising along, stopping at each vista point, taking pictures, admiring the astonishing view. At our first stop, we came across a Japanese couple, who left the engine running in their rental car, jumped out with their cell phones, snapped a quick shot, jumped back in and dashed to the next vista point... If you ask me, one of our finest National Parks deserves more than that !
This NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope image of the barred spiral galaxy UGC 12158 looks like someone took a white marking pen to it. In reality it is a combination of time exposures of a foreground asteroid moving through Hubble’s field of view, photobombing the observation of the galaxy. Several exposures of the galaxy were taken, which is evidenced by the dashed pattern.
The asteroid appears as a curved trail as a result of parallax: Hubble is not stationary, but orbiting Earth, and this gives the illusion that the faint asteroid is swimming along a curved trajectory. The uncharted asteroid is inside the asteroid belt in our Solar System, and hence is 10 trillion times closer to Hubble than the background galaxy.
Rather than being a nuisance, this type of data is useful to astronomers for doing a census of the asteroid population in our Solar System.
[Image description: This is a Hubble Space Telescope image of the barred spiral galaxy UGC 12158. The majestic galaxy has a pinwheel shape made up of bright blue stars wound around a yellow-white hub of central stars. The hub has a slash of stars across it, called a bar. The galaxy is tilted face-on to our view from Earth. A slightly S-shaped white line across the top is the Hubble image of an asteroid streaking across Hubble’s view. It looks dashed because the image is a combination of several exposures of the asteroid flying by like a race car.]
Credits: NASA, ESA, P. G. Martín (Autonomous University of Madrid), J. DePasquale (STScI). Acknowledgment: A. Filippenko (University of California, Berkeley); CC BY 4.0
I bought my Canon 100-400 L IS II lens primarily for walking around and catching wildlife such as squirrels and birds but I read with interest that it has quite a short minimal focal distance and can produce quite good "close-ups".
Dashed out to the back garden for a test.....
ID
3316
Listing Date
6 May 1970
History
Of at least C18 origin, evidence for which is the external stack and comparatively low proportions of the ground and first floors, but the character of the present building is C19, during which time it was probably heightened.
Exterior
A tall 3-storey 3-window public house of whitened pebble-dashed walls, with smooth-rendered black-painted plinth and architraves, under a slate roof on boarded overhanging eaves. An external stack is on the R side wall, while brick stacks are to the rear and L side abutting the town wall. Details are late C19, characteristic of public houses of the period. The gable-end front has a central panel door in a doorcase with pediment. Windows are horned sashes. The entrance is flanked by 2-pane windows incorporating etched glass. The 1st floor has a central 4-pane window flanked by narrower 2-pane windows, and the 2nd floor has shorter 2-pane windows to the R and L. A 1-storey extension on the L side is under a lean-to roof against the tower of Porth Isaf (part of the medieval town wall and listed separately), and has a 2-pane window.
In the R side wall the external stack is set back from the front gable end and has a later brick shaft. To its R is a 3-storey flat-roof projection.
The rear, where the ground level is higher, has a replacement 1st-floor window on the R side, 12-pane horned sash window above and inserted window on the L side of the 2nd floor. Inside the roofless and open shell of the tower of Porth Isaf is a 1½-storey lean-to with modern 3-light window.
Interior
The entrance vestibule has a half-glazed door with etched glass of the late C19. The main interior has been modernised.
Reasons for Listing
Listed for its special architectural interest as a commercial building retaining definite C19 character, with earlier origins that make it the earliest surviving quayside building in the town.
britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/300003316-liverpool-arms-pub...
The following was written on May 7, 2020. I have added a follow up today, April 22, 2025. Incidentally, let me state categorically that I am NOT a Democrat (or Republican). I'm Independent and will never be a member of any political party--other than the party of the human race.
This photo headed my latest essay, this one directed toward Democrats and Independents, which follows (sorry, it's relatively long):
IF AMERICA IS TO BE SAVED, WE MUST BE PREPARED FOR A LONG WAR OF ATTRITION
Like so many others, I have a relative who is a bit hard to be around these days. Both this person and their spouse have had professional careers and are reasonably intelligent people, and yet both of them are avid, dye-in-the-wool Trump supporters—utterly blind to the incompetence, ignorance and narcissism on full display every time Trump speaks or acts.
How is this possible?
We all know people like this. How can so many otherwise intelligent people be sucked into the black hole of ineptitude and corruption that is Donald Trump and his Republican enablers? I keep thinking/hoping that perhaps some of these Trump followers haven't been entirely lost and are merely skirting the edge of Trump's event horizon, waiting to be snatched away from annihilation by . . . something. They're intelligent people. Surely they can be reached.
So, every once-in-awhile, my hopes are aroused when Trump says or does something so outrageous, even by his standards, that I think, “Ah! This, THIS is so vile, so absurd, surely this will finally open the eyes of some of his followers and they will be freed of the crushing gravity of Trump's corrosive malfeasance and come to their senses.” I dared to think that when the details of his inhumane treatment of migrants came to light. Surely the heartless kidnapping of small children—ripped from the arms of their loving mothers—would be the catalyst that would finally change their perception and reveal to all the inhumanity of this president.
I was, to understate, wrong.
I should have realized at that point, if terrorizing and abusing children could not dissuade his followers, nothing could. I am ashamed to say, however, that there have been many other times when an outlandish comment or action by Trump, in spite of the mounting evidence to the contrary, made me wonder if some of his support might peal away with the new revelation of idiocy or mean spiritedness or solipsism. And each and every time my hopes are completely dashed—yet still I continue to search for glimmers of hope. I guess it's time to acknowledge that at my core, I must be an optimist. It sickens me to admit it. It goes against all the layers of cynicism, pragmatism and despair that surround it and that usually color my perception of everything. How can I be an optimist in a world with Trump as president?
But how can I deny the reality of that core when, on April 23rd, I heard Trump muse on the possibility of injecting disinfectant “like a cleansing” into the body to treat the virus, and my immediate reaction (after retrieving my jaw from the floor) was that this absolutely nutty and dangerous idea might be SO nutty, SO dangerous, that some of his followers might at long last recognize Trump for what he really is—a profoundly, dangerously ignorant blowhard?
After being wrong so many times before, my reality testing was intact enough to recognize that these hopes might very well be dashed again (though the use of the word “might” in that sentence, instead of the more accurate “would be” shows how insidious that kernel of optimism really is). Still, I was buoyed by the prospect. I wasn't so deluded to think in my wildest fancy that his supporters would desert him en masse, but surely a few would be jolted to their senses.
Surely?
A couple of days later, I bumped into my unnamed relative and spouse. We chatted a bit about nothing in particular, and then I offered a joke: “I suppose you're out shopping for some disinfectant to inject in case you come down with the coronavirus?”
I'm sure that you, dear reader, lacking that infernally unrealistic core of optimism that I am afflicted with, can anticipate the reaction far better than I did. I wasn't expecting a full-throated disavowal of Trump, mind you, but I was expecting some acknowledgment of the insanity of his ideas—maybe a shrug of the shoulders or a wry smile as a tacit admission that yes, he was way off base at least in this particular.
Of course I was wrong . . . again. What I received from them was an agitated, all guns blazing, defensive assault on the very idea that Trump is anything but a remarkable president [here I could agree, remarkable indeed!]. Attacking his critics, they said, “The media is so unfair!” [How dare they insist that the idea of ingesting/injecting Lysol is dangerous!] “Everyone just loves to nit-pick him to death.” [Read: kidnapping children? no big deal.] “And anyway, he was just thinking out loud.” [Can you really call musing about injecting Clorox—into the human body—“thinking?”] “No one ever talks about all the good things he does, they just fasten on his few mistakes.”
Well, I had to hand it to them, they were right about the media rarely talking about the good things he does (not counting “Fox,” of course). But unless you happen to be a billionaire, or a bigot, or think nature should be paved over, it's darn hard to point to any of those “good things.” As for the “few mistakes” that phrase, in reference to this administration, could, in the real world, be nothing except high satire.
They said more than what's quoted above, but that will give you the flavor of it. They’re just two people, and statistically, they can hardly be held up as models for all Trump supporters. But they aren't the only Trump supporters I know. Everywhere I look I see the same refusal to see facts as they are, the same blind support, the same adoration. Maybe there were a tiny number of individuals who were actually jolted to their senses by the remarkable nonsense that tumbled out of Trump's mouth that day, but it's very clear that it's nigh on to impossible to tear people away from the Cult of Trump. To hope that a significant portion of them will see the light come November is way beyond the capacity of my annoying little core of optimism. (Hmm. Maybe some injected Lysol would rid me of it?).
Armed with the knowledge that Trump's supporters are implacable and determined to see him re-elected, we need to recognize that we face nothing less than an existential threat . . . and that threat is us. Those of us who can still tell the difference between fact and the alternate variety must act as if the survival of our country is at stake, because it isn't an act. These United States have already suffered such grievous injury at the hand of the Trumpublicans that we are on the brink of becoming a failed state. Only decades of sober leadership and a motivated, thoughtful and sane majority can pull us back from the brink and heal those injuries. We can't wait for or hope that the GOP comes to its senses. We who understand the threat must simply out muscle the GOP and overwhelm them at the polls. We must be willing to overcome all of the many hurdles the Trumpublicans throw down—the gerrymandering, the voter suppression,the dirty tricks, the ruthlessness. We cannot let our guard down . . . ever—not for November 2020, not for 2022 or 2024 nor any of the local elections occurring in between. If we—Independents and Democrats—cannot become a determined, impassioned, yet reasoned force that endures (and votes!), this country will not endure.
This brings to mind an early speech Abraham Lincoln gave which we should all take to heart as a warning for all time. After noting how fortunate all of America's citizens were to inherit this country—the greatest on earth—from our forebears, he said it wasn't from abroad that we should fear attack, but from within.
"All the armies of Europe, Asia and Africa combined . . . with a Buonaparte [sic] for a commander, could not by force, take a drink from the Ohio, or make a track on the Blue Ridge, in a trial of a thousand years.
"At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide."
If we are to die by suicide, i.e., allow this president a second term, or allow any Republican to win the White House in the foreseeable future, we will not be able to blame Trump, or McConnell, or the GOP, or their followers. That they are the most destructive internal force this country has faced since the Civil War is certainly true, but if they succeed in destroying America, it will be the rest of us that must shoulder the blame. We will have allowed it. Like someone releasing a lion onto a crowd of children—it isn't the lion who'll be blamed for the resulting carnage.
There is no room for complacency, no room for voting for a third party as a protest, no room for staying home because your favored candidate lost the primary or because Biden is far from perfect. There is too much at stake: the very survival of our country. We must resign ourselves to a long war of attrition and remain eternally vigilant against the Republican threat (as well as malfeasance by Democrats—which is equally important). Electing Biden will not be the end of this war, nor will regaining control of the Senate. Though vitally important, these are merely the opening battles that need to be won—the beginning of a long series of such battles—the battle for the soul and survival of our nation.
The question is, are the Democrats and their Independent allies up to the task?
[April 22, 2025] The answer to that last question, we now know, was no. Yes, Trump was defeated in 2020, but we are now living in the nightmare of his resurrection. Sanity won the battle but has been annihilated in the war. And that nightmare is even worse than I'd imagined, and my imagination had painted a pretty awful portrait. Nothing, no individual act of this would-be tyrant in obvious tyrant's clothing, has been particularly surprising--it's the speed and the extent of his authoritarian take-over that has stunned me.
It really shouldn't have.
After our fascist leaning Supreme Court ruled that presidents are free to do whatever they want with their authority without fear of legal repercussions (a ruling that clearly flies in the face of any reasonable "originalist" interpretation of the Constitution)--Trump, who is devoid of the tiniest shred of morality, could unleash all of his bigotry, lust for power and corruption--openly, with no fear of reprisal. And he is aided in this unvarnished destruction of democratic norms by something he learned in his first term--bolstered by this Supreme Court's sympathy for the authoritarian idea of the unitarian executive. In this ideology, all bureaucracy, every facet of the executive branch is controlled absolutely by the president--no independent Justice Dept., or any of the various bureaucracies. If the president wants to send the FBI to investigate his enemies, there is nothing to stop him. Well, excepting any honorable and competent appointees. But there are none in this administration. In his first go-round, among the too many corrupt cronies he appointed, he also named a good number of well-qualified individuals who ended up resisting many of Trump's worst impulses. Having learned from this "mistake," there are zero honorable men/women in his cabinet or any other position of note. They all bow to Trump--the Constitution be damned. Sending people to prison without so much as a sham hearing? It's all fine and dandy to his attorney general (who insists the Supreme Court approved--when they actually ordered him to bring them back).
And virtually all of Trump's core supporters are eating it up. The veil has been drawn. It was pretty transparent all along, but now Trump supporters see his dictatorial efforts and they applaud him.
So, has that infernal core of optimism I spoke of been finally annihilated by our current state of affairs? Sadly, not entirely. My optimism that Trump's MAGA core might someday see the light has been fully extinguished, but I continue to hold out hope for those who orbit him more distantly. Recent polls show some slippage of support. Weirdly, his overall support has been hovering in the low 40's, but regarding his individual actions/stances, they all are even lower--with the exception of immigration (always where he drew the most support), but even there, support has dropped below 50%.
I can't really say I'm optimistic about his support dropping to such lows that even his rubber stamps in the legislature begin to desert him, but I am hopefully. The chaos he sows is so great that more and more people are taking notice, as is his disregard of the health and welfare of Americans (gutting Medicaid, cutting back on--the FDA, the CDC, Head Start, and on and on, not to mention putting someone in charge of Health and Human Services that does not believe in science). But he's also cut programs that help combat Russian, Chinese, N. Korean and Iranian efforts to steal our secrets and disrupt our economy all the while planting seeds of disinformation to disrupt society. This too makes us less safe--as does cutting to almost zero our support of global health initiatives. Millions of people, mostly children, will die throughout the world because of this. Thousands of Americans will also die needlessly.
Electing an utterly immoral, hateful, unqualified and profoundly ignorant person to lead the most powerful nation of earth has consequences. How could they be anything BUT bad?
In a recent interview, Trump was asked, ". . . don’t you need to uphold the Constitution of the United States as president?” His response: "I don't know." THIS is who we elected president!
"You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side, yeah
We chased our pleasures here
Dug our treasures there
But can you still recall
The time we cried
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side "
The Doors:
This song fits for me, as I have an image of emergence from Darkness and the pleasure of "Breaking on Through to the other side"
Rare sunny Day in September we dashed out to countryside with a few props and a black bedsheet as a shawl and had a laugh with the camera.
Ilford HP5 Dev in Ilfosol 3 dev at 1:14 dilution .Development details on FilmDev
Printed 8'x10' on Ilford MGIV Glossy and scanned in my old flatbed, hence lines
It suddenly stopped raining this evening, so we dashed out for a 'quick' road trip while there was some sunshine. 🚗
About 3 hours and 145 km (around 90 miles) later, we ended up at Varhaug gamle kirkegård in Hå kommune - the smallest chapel we've ever come across, overlooking the north sea. It seats just 14 parishoners inside, and the churchyard dates back to 1328, although this building is more recent!
I just managed to get a shot of Petunia before it got dark and clouds rolled in for the night.
I've lost count of the number of times I've looked out of the window at a promising sunset and dashed up to Duntulm to capture the killer shot only for the light to completely disappear by the time I get there. Last night, for once, I was lucky. The light, which had been good when I arrived, actually improved and became stunning. I think this is the best I've ever seen it. I'm not a fan of orange sunsets so although I did take quite a few images as the sun was setting, I deleted them. I always feel that the best colours come when the sun has already set and last night proved that to be true
This is Tulm Island.
It was so fun to watch Skylar experience snow for the first time. She dashed around the yard and rolled in the snow with wild abandon. So glad she got to enjoy one snow this winter.
MISSION 20: Objective Nern
DESIGNATION: CC-6359
NICKNAME: Branch
RANK: ARC Sergeant
LOG ENTRY: 020\\03
My remaining men and I dashed through the separatist corridors, hoping to find a place to convalesce after the pummeling we took during the initial assault. We weren't going to last for long without cover.
Out of desperation we bolted into the caverns of the mines, becoming engulfed in darkness. Running. Running. We rushed through the endless darkness, our feet growing more and more ponderous with each step. Then we stopped. Our vanguard came to a sudden halt in front of a colossal trandosian. He looked at us. We looked at him.
“Dank ferrik."
He was plated in cortosis. And he was charging straight for us.
Any attempts to escape failed. There was no way out. The mammoth lunged towards me and seized my head, pounding my brain against my skull. Everything hurt. The massive beast swung his burly arm directly into my diaphram, eliminating the air from my lungs and replacing it with blood. I could barely breathe. My brother lunged at the beast “Come and get some-'' but was cut off short. The trandoshan's razor like claws skewered him through his chest, sending blood soaring everywhere. I was too weak to mourn. Another strike to my flank, this time shattering my armor. Shards of plastoid were sent flying, puncturing my skin and leaving wounds on my chest. My ribs were piercing my lungs. The trandosian peered into my visor, ready to kill me, while I saged, immobile on the ground. What had felt like forever was about to be over.
A Strike to the head. Then the chest. Then the head. But no. Four shots, three hitting the goliath. The sound of a blaster to an eye. Then a world shattering shriek. A tumble to the ground. Struggling to stand, I glanced at the fallen body of the monster. With all my remaining strength, I lifted my rifle barely above the ground, a using it as a makeshift cane. One of my brothers assisted me in moving upright, impaling me with bacta as i stood. The others peeled as much cortosis plating as they could from the husk of the beast, attaching some to their armor and firing on the head to insure his fatality. Keep moving. Keep moving. We were gonna blow the seppies to hell. For the republic.
Unexpected clear sky during a rainy weekend. I dashed off so quickly that I forgot my Nisi NL filter :-/ Taken with Nikon Z7 II, Nikkor Z 14-24mm f/2.8 S at 10s | f/2.8 | 14mm | ISO 6400
Air Iceland Connect inbound Belfast George Best, while the weather turned dull with snow following.
Copyright Andy Crossley | Photography 2018
EPISODE at ABBOTS CHASE Parte 3
Suddenly, the loud snapping of a twig pierced the silence of the shadows behind,
His playtime interrupted, George turned with a surprised look certainly most unkind.
When from a trees shadow walked a stranger, not quite nearly handsome and dark,
Not exactly a dashing Casanova, but as a welcomed hero, he would do for the part.
Quickly he sized up the situation, preparing to face the highwayman's wrath,
The hero waved his sabre with challenging finesse, as he advanced down the path.
Smiling George let go his prize, standing firm, turned and poised his sword to attack,
Suddenly a nettled ladies spiked heel, kicked his boy’s with a well-aimed whack!
Aggrieved at the lass’s spunk, now two against one, were not odds George favored,
He turned and hobbled off, giving up the quite naughty thoughts he had savored.
His victim then tried grabbing him by his cloak, but he slipped out as he dashed,
Tripping as he avoided the stranger’s sabre, vanishing in the fast creek he splashed.
Our hero turned to the lady, who was nonchalantly straightening her shiny attire, not nervous
Bowing in whole obeisance he acquainted, Milady, Marque, of the Manor, at your full service.
Reaching while gently moving his sharp sabre aside, her hazel eyes holding a relieved tear,
As the Romeos heart melted she purred, “Best watch where you place that my Dear”.
Now Marque, the Earl’s youngest son, had been carefully tracking an owl that poached,
Watching by the manor house, had become fully mesmerized by our lady walking to her coach.
Then , he had followed the owl flying through the woods leading down to Abbots Chase,
Hearing voices, he came upon, a handsome couple, in what seemed a rather vigorous embrace.
He had turned away, not wishing to spoil their little tryst, then spied his prey high in a tree,
Moving closer as the owl took flight, and he observed the villain relieve the pretty lady of jewellery.
Recognizing the damsel, the guest from the Manor house, Marque felt a sudden burning inspire,
To valiantly rescue the dazzling Maiden from her dismal distress, was his fully awakened desire.
Marque now found himself alone with the prettiest Court Lady he had ever seen,
His entire body quivered, everything seemed like he was in an enchanting dream.
A cold tingle traveled his spine as she looked him over, coyly sensing his duress,
She looked deep within his stricken eyes, a hazel eyed beauty, hair attractively messed.
Blushing, he looked down, spying a white silken handkerchief limp at his feet,
Picking it swiftly up, for he could feel his face turning quite as red as a winter beet.
When the lady Impishly cleared her throat, Marque looked up, his heart skipping a beat,
For the lady had moved closer, studying him with an innocence he found quite sweet.
She beguilingly approached him with a vexing swishing swirl of her long satin gown,
Taking the handkerchief offered, she touched his hand, as his love finally broke its bounds
Giving him a peck on his cheek, he suddenly felt his noble soul captured, as her charms wound,
Heart pounding as she moved slyly away while looking back at him, his jaw slam’d the ground!
Knowing his enrapture, she bent down to carefully reclaim her baubles from George's cloak,
Black silky satin tightly outlined her figure as she emptied many pockets, carefully taking note.
Jewels sparkled in the night, as she beckoned to the man whose soul she now possessed,
"Kind sir, would you please help me place my baubles back?" her voice, his ears caressed.
With weakened knees, approaching her slowly, his being overfilled, face still quite flush,
Placing a satin gloved hand to her breast, she smiled at him with a nicely played blush.
He stopped for a second, restrained firmly with astounding waves of radiant rapture,
That pretty damsel, a side glance, demurely laughed, cagily completed his over-all capture.
She held out to him her necklace, while watching teasing, the glistening diamonds unfurl,
Looking away up deep within his eyes, she knowingly placed him into a bottomless whirl.
Replacing the necklace, she backed into him, and Marque grasped warm her satiny arms,
Sparks flew between them, as her gentle hands intertwined his, drenched him with her charms.
Ductile, his fingers sent trembles, as the many glistening jewels, he willingly helped, replaced,
This manor born lad’s eyes showing desire, as each piece upon her figure was again embraced.
As he raised up her shimmering tiara of diamonds, she shivered, though it was not cold
Bowing, she squirmed, as she thought of what his embrace could do , if only he would be bold.
Slipping the last ring on, Marque kissed her gloved hand with a courteous flourish,
As our lady felt her particular hunger rise, with a desire for immediate nourish.
Two pairs of eyes locked, as two figures now quivered in sinc with a loving need,
Lips drew ever closer, unable to resist the sweet call of nature’s unwritten creed.
Together they came, pulling fervently close, as Marque 's hands wrapped around her sleek waist,
His warm body answered her wish from deep within, as they hugged together in passionate haste.
A rusty knight to her rescue had come, unbinding the lady from her eternally captive darkness,
This noble born man , was tenderly caressing , releasing from within, raw love in all starkness.
Now, all the while, the owl had been watching unabashed, but no voyeur was he,
With an admonishing hoot, he quickly winged home from the low branch of the tree.
Startled, our lady jumped solidly up into her almost knightly hero’s strong arms,
Her heart racing, as his held her slick figure firm, while his voice soothingly charmed!
Murmuring in her ear, "ere my lady lets now get you somewhere soundly safe"
Still reeling from his stimulating embrace, she smiled saying," I know just the place."
Whispering in his ear, as to her carriage our lady led him, victories achieved,
"Bring your sabre also my dear sir, to protect my jewels from other thieves."
As the owl flew on its way, its piercing eyes spied the highwayman laying prone by the lake,
Then, as a cool breeze reached its ears, from the carriage came sweet sounds in the wake,
It was the sing song hum of our lady’s voice, carried through in a sweet musical tone,
Said as her eyes in the shadows sparkled desire," kind lord, help me find my way home."
la fin
A rare sighting, we were lucky enough to spot this White Tailed Deer in Everglades National Park. He hesitated momentarily and then dashed across our path and on to the other side of the road.
Steller Sea Lions sun-bathing on wave-dashed rocks in Resurrection Bay, Alaska. Look closely and you can see an ID number on the female all the way on the right.
Its15 minutes before sunset and I’m on a canoe, not so steady in light wind. I spotted the Heron landing from about 800 meters and dashed over there after waiting for him the whole day. He was standing on a rock just behind a small island. Facing him the sun was directly at my lens. So got a bit closer to get some of the trees to block the sun and anticipated the takeoff. Used raw to get the 2 extra stops and editing capabilities and got a few good images. Check the previous image for the follow-up.
Check the Meta.
She dashed by me in painted on jeans
And all the heads turned because she was the queen
In the blink of an eye I knew her number and her name yeah
And she said I was the tiger she wanted to tame
Caribbean Queen
Now we're sharing the same dream
And our hearts they beat as one
No more love on the run
I lose my cool when she steps in the room
And I get so excited just from her perfume
Electric eyes that you can't ignore
And passion burns you like never before
I was in search of a good time
Just running my game
Love was the furthest
Furthest from my mind
Caribbean Queen
Now we're sharing the same dream
And our hearts they beat as one
No more love on the run
Ann Hennis moved to America, probably as an indentured servant, in 1761. Her first husband, Richard Trotter, a Shenandoah Valley settler and survivor of General Edward Braddock’s disastrous expedition of 1755, was killed at the Battle of Point Pleasant on October 10, 1774. Thereupon his widow adopted male dress, took up rifle and tomahawk, and became a frontier scout, messenger, spy, and Indian fighter. She was the subject of numerous adventures, both true and legendary, and became widely known as the “white squaw of the Kanawha” and more bluntly as “Mad Ann.” In 1788 she moved with her second husband, John Bailey, also a scout, to “Clendenin’s Settlement” on the site of present-day Charleston, West Virginia. The settlement’s principal feature was Fort Lee, and its siege by Native Americans in 1791 provided the occasion for Ann Bailey’s most famous exploit. When the defenders’ powder ran low, she volunteered to ride for help. She dashed from the fort and through the host of besiegers, rode 100 miles (160 km) through the forest to Fort Union (present-day Lewisburg), and returned on the third day with powder. After her second husband’s death she went to live with her son in Ohio.
*The Ohio River is in the background.
Late yesterday evening , I happened to look out our dining room window and notice a brilliant moon. In less than a minute I had grabbed my camera and dashed out into our back yard to take a few shots. I like this one in particular for the details it caught.
The full moon shines through fog streaming over the Golden Gate and San Francisco Bay, as seen from Hawk Hill. We were ably guided by Flickereeno Kirk Lougheed in our photographic quest. Our hopes for a colorful sunset and moonrise were dashed by thickening fog that obscured nearly everything. However on our way out a few breaks appeared, and then the bay and bridge shone through the fog with occasional views of the moon. In the distance the Bay Bridge and East Bay are visible.
Ferring Beach
Left home a bit late but arrived in time before the sunrise. Set up on the beach, pretty cold, forgot gloves, forgot filter!!! Dashed back to the car to get filter (it's been so long since I've done this - and I'm getting older) leaving tripod and camera on the sand hoping it wouldn't topple over (it has before). Luckily no dog walkers in the pre-dawn! Unfortunately no clouds today so this is my best attempt. Maybe a sunset would suit an old git better!