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Vintage New Year cards dedicated to you, my friends! Happy New Year!
Diese Neujahrskarten sind wohl 100 Jahre alt - nun sollen sie Euch erfreuen! Prosit 2019!
My Dear Friend:
I want to give you a present, a beautiful Tulip, that when I saw it during my trip, I really took the shot thinking of you, because it reminds me your beautiful garden...
I hope you get well soon, take your time...
I send you a big huge that make you feel how much I care...
© TUTTI I DIRITTI RISERVATI ©
Tutto il materiale nella mia galleria NON PUO' essere riprodotto, copiato, modificato, pubblicato, trasmesso e inserito da nessuna parte senza la mia autorizzazione scritta.
Si prega di NON scaricare e usare le mie foto in mancanza di una mia autorizzazione scritta.
Tutti i miei lavori sono protetti da Copyright (©), si prega di mandarmi una mail se si desidera comprare o usare uno qualunque dei miei lavori.
Grazie
LE FOTOGRAFIE SONO IN VENDITA
©ALL RIGHTS RESERVED©
All material in my gallery MAY NOT be reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without my permission.
Please DO NOT Download or use my photos without my written permission.
All my works are Protected by Copyright (©), please send me a mail if you wish to buy or use someone.
Thank you
THE PICTURES ARE FOR SALE
"OMAGGIO A FELLINI"
Al riminese regista la sua città natale dedica un ricordo tangibilissimo, in una mostra che contiene tutte le aggettivazioni della sua poetica. Fellini all’opera. La mostra, visitabile fino al 20 gennaio 2014 (anniversario della sua nascita).
La mostra è allestita in un luogo che di sicuro, a Fellini, sarebbe piaciuto vedere integralmente funzionante: il reclamato da tutti Teatro A. Galli, bombardato durante la Seconda Guerra, tuttora autentico incompiuto a cielo aperto - eccetto per alcuni spazi accessibili al pubblico, come il foyer e i saloni. Questi ambienti sono tradotti in una scena caleidoscopica, abitata da visioni e sogni di ispirazione felliniana...una sorta di grande lanterna magica.
Il cinema, il miglior cinema, il cui lascito permette oggi che accadimenti multimediali - come quelli che abitano ora lo spazio del Galli - si nutrano della stessa sostanziale visionarietà.
Ogni cosa, all’interno di Fellini all’opera, sembra voler ribadire che tutti sognano, in un modo o nell’altro, nella finzione o nella realtà, perché il sogno è sempre da intendersi come estensione di una visione - che, in alcuni casi, diventa processo artistico, verificabile e finto ancora, filmico.
C’è uno spirito del sogno, una volontà onirica intrinseca, che alimenta i sostrati dei lavori in mostra. Fotogrammi che si inerpicano nel quotidiano, misticheggiando le nostre vite, come i flash insistenti delle immagini sognate durante la notte, che chiedono riscatto alla memoria nel corso del giorno.
Una mostra-amplificatore - megafono, è il caso di dire - ricca di contributi che estendono all’infinito le potenzialità di un genio, in un raffinatissimo prisma che riceve e proietta Bellezza.
14/01/2014...h. 01.10
Nathalie, as soon as I saw this I started thinking of you and of bulldogs, well it's not a bulldog but still it's so cute
My b&w version , of this image , is cheerfully dedicated to a photographer , that I met in Bakewell the other day ~ Naomi Jones ~ ( Naomi Jones Photography )
I was lucky enough to meet her , ( Sept 11th 2017 ), and see some great examples of her work @ a craft fair in Bakewell Town Hall ....... quite a few gorgeous , images but one in particular .... a little bunch of stags ....... Magical ! , Simple as that ! ( if you get the chance to see her work GO ! or make time and look at her site !!!! ) Her work honestly made me think quite a bit !
lots more info @ www.naomijonesphotography.com
This Photostory is dedicated to Juliana. ;*
Yue GAG w/ Shin and Lenn/
El GAG de Yuecon Shin y Lenn
(Read in this order) PAG: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14.
PHOTOSTORY: In English / En Español
Shin: … ¬¬ needing patience... why did someone think of creating you...
/
Shin: … ¬¬ santa paciencia... en que hora te crearon...
COLLABORATION:
SHERYL LINKS:
- Sheryl's Flickr: Photostories 2011 - Sketches 2011 / Photostories 2012 - Sketches 2012
I love this song...this is dedicated to my husband Kraig. It's my second flickr anniversary..and he has always been my inspiration. God speed you back to me. Thanks for all of the emails and prayers. I will answer each and every one. Will visit tonite...much love.For those following...thanks
Wake up to the sunlight
With your windows open
Don't hold in your anger or leave things unspoken
Wear your red dress
Use your good dishes
Make a big mess and make lots of wishes
Have what you want
But want what you have
And don't spend your life lookin' back
Chorus:
Turn up the music
Turn it up loud
Take a few chances
Let it all out
You won't regret it
Lookin' back from where you have been
Cuz it's not who you knew
And it's not what you did
It's how you live
So go to the ballgames
And go to the ballet
And go see your folks more than just on the holidays
Kiss all your children
Dance with your wife
Tell your husband you love him every night
Don't run from the truth
'Cause you can't get away
Just face it and you'll be okay
Point of Grace
This album's name is dedicated to my favourite game of all time Elder Scrolls Online and race of all time, The Argonians (reptile humanoids). There's a story for you to read below about some of them towards the bottom.
What does Ku Vastei mean? Read below
By Lights-the-Way, Mystic of the Mages Guild
It is hard to describe the culture of my people. Often my tongue stumbles as I try to explain, but it is my hope that ink and quill will give me time enough to gather my thoughts. And perhaps, though such writing, I will finally connect the parts of me that now feel so divided; my homeland of Murkmire and my new life within the Mages Guild.
These journals are to become my ku-vastei. And, as I write that, I can think of no better topic to begin with.
Ku-vastei roughly translates to "the catalyst of needed change," though such a direct translation in no way does justice to the original meaning. Another translation could be "that which creates the needed pathway for change to occur" or even "the spark which ignites the flame which must come into being."
Perhaps a more direct analysis should be first presented. Ku-vastei is a noun, a thing or person. Vastei directly translates to change, an important part of my culture. Ku is harder to speak of. It is that which leads to change, though not that which creates change. An important role, as stagnation is a fate worse than death.
Take a boulder which sits atop a cliff, teetering in place. It must fall eventually. The ku-vastei does not push the boulder off the cliff; rather, it picks the pebble which holds the rock in place. And so it falls, not by a push, but by a pathway cleared.
Ku-vastei is revered, just as change itself is revered, for to look back at what was means to stumble as you move forward. Sometimes, a little push in the right direction is all someone needs to remember such wisdom. Other times, they may need to be shoved.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Naka Desh Tribe
by Emmanubeth Hurrent, the Wayfarers' Society of Wayrest
My guide, Names-the-Orchids, took me deep into the swamp to meet a little-known tribe called the Naka-Desh, or Riverbacks. Few Imperials venture far enough into Black Marsh to meet the People of the River, and the Naka-Desh see little benefit in traveling beyond the boundaries of their Hist's roots. For that reason, most perceive them as a secretive and mysterious tribe. This misconception is made all the more amusing by the Riverbacks' boundless hospitality.
We approached the Riverbacks' territory via ferry boats. Our expedition encountered tribal sentries almost immediately. They floated to the surface of the water like turtles or crocodiles. I was struck by the wideness of their faces, the largeness of their eyes, and the broad webs adorning their forearms and throats. The Hist clearly provided the "right skin" for the locale. Riverback territory is more water than land—a drowned marsh navigable by small rafts, canoes, and little else.
Names-the-Orchids greeted them with a series of low croaks. They cheerfully repeated the sound before lifting themselves onto our boat. Neither of the sentries seemed familiar with Cyrodilic, so our guide had to interpret. She told us that the Riverbacks demanded tribute in the form of a riddle before they would grant passage. I detected no threat behind the demand. It seemed like more of an invitation than an order. I've no talent for wordplay, but I shared a children's riddle about doorknobs that practically every Imperial knows. As soon as Names-the-Orchids translated it, the two sentries clapped their hands. One of them pressed his forehead to mine, croaked twice, then both vanished into the water as suddenly as they appeared.
We spent four days among the Riverbacks—all but one of them on rafts fishing. Riverback fishing resembles traditional fishing in name only. Rather than hook and line, the Naka-Desh use large river fish called osheeja gars. Each osheeja is secured by a strange harness and bridle. When the Argonians find an abundant fishing spot, they release the predatory gars and let them snatch up the fish. As soon as an osheeja bites a fish, the Argonians pull their pets to the side of the boat and claim the fish for themselves. I asked Names-the-Orchids how it works. Apparently, the bridle prevents the gar from swallowing. She assured me that the osheejas are well-cared for, though. Until they grow too old, of course, whereupon they too are eaten.
Our time with the Riverbacks was not without frustration. Of all the Argonians I have met, the Naka-Desh were by far the least curious. Other than riddles, they had no appetite for anything we brought. They refused our food, took no particular interest in our tales, and did not even ask for our names. This disinterest combined with their boundless hospitality made most of the expedition uncomfortable. Names-the-Orchids chided us for thinking kindness demands reciprocity. As always, even these small disappointments teach us valuable lessons.
["the tribe is not currently in the game but in the world of the game"]
Dedicated to tonialon. Thank you so much for your wonderful testimonial Toni :-) www.flickr.com/photos/tonialon/
Dedicated to Saint John, the cathedral of Lyon is one of the most prominent churches of France (it is also a UNESCO World Heritage site). Indeed, the archbishop of Lyon has borne the title of “Primate of the Gauls” since the 2nd century, as Lyon was the first bishopric ever created in the “three Gauls”, as the provinces of Lyon and the Alps, the Aquitaine, and Belgium, were known during the times of the Western Roman Empire. Lyon was then the capital of all those vast territories. This “primacy” conferred to the archbishop of Lyon authority over all other bishops, even that of Paris, the secular capital of more recent times. Now, the title is largely honorific.
The Saint-Jean Cathedral is mostly a Gothic church, and as such of limited interest to me. However, having been built over the span of three centuries, from 1175 to 1480, it was begun as a Romanesque church and there are indeed small parts and details that remain from that period, albeit few and far between.
I have visited that church several times, but I went again on the Saturday before Easter (2022) to try and locate a few of those parts and details...
It was also a good opportunity to test my “Brittany Configuration”, i.e., the gear I will bring on my week-long family trip to Brittany at the beginning of May: as I wasn’t sure what kind of equipment would be allowed inside the cathedral, I brought my new 24–120mm ƒ/4 S lens, with the 14–30mm in case of need (I ended up not needing it), and my very small and light Gitzo Series 0 Traveler tripod, which I used for all exposures indoors. That gear worked very satisfactorily. Of course, the tripod is a lot shorter than my usual one (not to mention my big one!), but one has to make do when one must travel light. That was the idea.
Happy Easter to everyone!
Yesterday I showed a lion biting at the lower torus of a choir column, but there are other small creatures represented in stone all around the choir, at the base of the massive piles. They are all from Romanesque times as well. The marble columns are re-used from Antiquity monuments that abounded in Lyon.
Dedicated to Don. My late neighbor's son, and a great guy. Who was lost on Tower 1.
My first visit to the 9-11 Memorial and WTC site since that fateful day in 2001.
Dedicated to all the NHS staff who are in the front line
and risking their own lives in helping others fighting Coronavirus. Also, to all the other professionals working so hard to find a vaccine. May God bless you all and keep you safe. I am proud of each and everyone of you. Thank you xx
Dedicated to Simon's utak of London, whos creative and excellent photography will delight you. View here:
www.flickr.com/photos/95859572@N06/
Thanks Simon, you certainly inspire me.
Seen in Project Contact Thank-you, # 105
flic.kr/s/aHsmNjQ5M6. Thanks for viewing!
Dedicated to Ray of Peace (Kiran Nasir - www.flickr.com/photos/rayofpeace/) to say hello and welcome her to this photostream
- Tranquillité d'esprit
The museum’s first dedicated building opened in December
1877, after exhibits were moved from the Arsenal Building in
New York's Central Park.
-- Wikipedia
From the photography firm Harroun & Bierstadt;
photographer Edward Bierstadt (1824–1906) was
the brother of noted landscape painter Albert Bierstadt
From mid-April 2021, operation of the dedicated shuttle service to the Nightingale Vaccination Hospital from Sunderland, Pallion, Hylton Retail Park, and Castletown, which from its introduction in February had been run jointly by Go North East and JH Coaches under a partnership agreement, was taken over by Gateshead Central Taxis under contract to Nexus.
Gateshead Central Taxis have however sub-contracted the Hospital Shuttle to Newcastle-based L & B Travel. Initially GCT vehicles were used, but from the beginning of May, L & B Travel have been using their own vehicles and seen here is their Alexander Dennis Enviro 200 Dart, YX11AEK, turning in to Albion Place, Sunderland, on the 5th May 2021. This is one of three former Abellio London Enviro 200s that are allocated to this service.
Dedicated to the Jain God Prasanth, Gori temple lies outside of the village of Gori between Islamkot and Nagarparkar. The various legends point to its foundations by a rich Hindu merchant six hundreds years ago. A more likely date is the middle of the 16th century. Though the impressive spire that typifies Jain temples fell in the earthquake of 1898, the rish frescoes in the main dome are still intact. Here can be seen princesses in royal coaches and elegant palanquins, equestrian processions and bevies of dark-skinned beauties in flowing Rajasthani robes at their household chores. The pillar interior is marble of the purest white and masterfully crafte stucco plaster. But the sanctum sanctorum is empty. The Prasanth icon, believed to have been studded with one large diamond between its eyes and two smaller ones on its breasts, was removed from the temple in 1716 by Sutojee Sodha, ruler of Virawah. Its new location was kept secret by succeeding heads of the family, and wehn Punjajee Sodha was defeated and killed by Talpurs in 1831 the icon was lost forever.
Above information taken from the Insight Guides Pakistan.
DEDICATED TO MY BELOVED ENGLISH WIFE THERESA JANE BROWN AND MYSELF.
LOUTRAKI - ΛΟΥΤΡΑΚΙ
Loutraki is a unique, cosmopolitan seaside and spa resort located about 80 km from Athens, to the northern curve of the Corinthian Gulf. It has a fantastic beach about 4 km in length and since 1987 holds continuously the "Blue Flag" of Europe for it's clean waters.
Among the many attractions of Loutraki are its Hydrotherapy Centre, the biggest Casino in Europe and easy access to nearby Ancient sites and Monasteries.
Taken during a 7 day photographic vacation with my beloved English wife Theresa Jane Brown, whilst staying with friends in their summer home.
Thanassis Fournarakos - Θανασης Φουρναρακος
Professional Photographer, retired.
Athens, Greece
© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
None of my images may be downloaded, copied, reproduced, manipulated or used on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit written permission. THANK YOU!
This photograph has achieved the following highest awards:
* GALAXY HALL OF FAME
Dedicated to all the living creatures in the world, people or animals, deprived of the right to the freedom!
_____________________________________
Dedicata a tutte le creature del mondo, persone o animali, alle quali è stato sottratto il diritto alla propria libertà!
Texture by Kerstin Frank art
_____________________________________
@ All rights reserved. Don't use or copy without my permission! @
The church is dedicated to Alfege, a former Archbishop of Canterbury, and reputedly marks the place where he was martyred on 19 April 1012, having been taken prisoner during the sack of Canterbury by Danish raiders the previous year. The Danes took him to their camp at Greenwich and killed him when the large ransom they demanded was not forthcoming.
The church was rebuilt in around 1290, and Henry VIII was baptized there in 1491. During a storm in 1710 the medieval church collapsed, its foundations having been weakened by burials both inside and outside.
Following the collapse of the medieval church, the present building was constructed, funded by a grant from the Commission for Building Fifty New Churches, to the designs of Nicholas Hawksmoor, one of the Commission's two surveyors. The first church to be built by the Commissioners, it was begun in 1712 and basic construction was completed in 1714.
DediCated To NESCAFE !~ < a7san mu9awirat woody i have ever seen or heard =)
ma gedart aqawimha :p
ne6raw bajee el kitchen photos after the exams ..
BRB again !~
comments with ur latest photos will be absolutly deleted =)
- Dedicated to all grandmas of Flickr familiar to Pensive galance
- Accomplissement
Dedicacée à toutes les mémés du Flickr familières de Pensive glance
dedicated to Katemina (unfortunately no longer on flickr, but for a good cause... she is living an happy life)
thank you for your support and everywhere you go may the eternal light be with you!
Everyone sees the unseen in proportion to the clarity of his heart, and that depends upon how much he has polished it. Whoever has polished it more sees more - more unseen forms become manifest to him.
Rumi
| Imagem 928
Dedicated To My Friend saghar
از صدای سخن عشق ندیدم خوشتر - اگه عاشقي يه درده كيه اين دردونديده؟ تو بگو كه كدوم عاشق رنج دوري نكشيده؟
A couple of days ago I met this young man walking his baby dog..They seemed to have a great friendship,which I'm sure will be lifelong :) After reading the moving story Jacii posted below his awesome shot,I thought it could symbolize that friendship... Unfortunately ,if there's nobody at home to help me ,I cannot do even the simplest things such as posting the link of my contacts ..I expect Jacii will help me with that ..or by showing his presence with that beautiful yet sad story he'll make his address known..
Sevgili arkadaşlar,
Bir iki gün önce bu ikilinin arasında ,belli ki hayat boyu sürecek bir dostluğa şahit oldum
Jacii'nin resmi altındaki etkileyici öyküyü okuduktan sonra o dostluğu sembolize edeceğini düşünerek bu kareyi yüklemeye karar verdim...ne yazık ki link yüklemeyi beceremiyorum...jacii'nin bana bu konuda yardımcı olmasını bekliyorum...Ancak öyküyü buraya eklerse de Türkçe'sini bulmam mümkün değil..Çok özür dilerim !
The Old Man and the Dog
by
Catherine Moore
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.
What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack
competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it;
but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to
the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.
But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We
hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week
after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was
satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody.
Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman
set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he
prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and
God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called
each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my
problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I
was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read
something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she
read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home All of
the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes
had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained
five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted
dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one
after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I
neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his
feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of
the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had
etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in
lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention.
Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can
you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.
"He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.
"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I
don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.
"You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty
lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for
tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting
in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a
favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see
the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter... his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father...and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood.
I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly.
Live While You Are Alive.
Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
And if you don't send this to at least 4 people - who cares? But do share this with someone.
Lost time can never be found .
#278 July 22,2008 Thank you all :)
Paul was one of the first people I encountered on Flickr. Years and years ago. Some of my fondest memories related to Flickr are the times we Skyped and the gifts we exchanged. Breaks my heart.
www.flickr.com/photos/the-g-uk/
He was sweet enough to write a testimonial for me. Godspeed Brother!
Dedicated to Dear Alireza he is matchless
بگو از کلاغ پیر
که به خونه نرسید
از بهار قصه ها
که سر شاخه تکید
بگو از خونه بگو
از گل پونه بگو
از شب شب زده ها
که نمی مونه بگو
اردلان سرفراز
Dedicated: Work by »Nize«, spotted in the Dedicated BackYard at night. – Early October 2013.
Thanx to Babak and the Shop-Crew.
Dedicated to my flickr friends with all the awesome birds in their gardens...Barb, Carol, Arlene ..Tank .....and all, this is what I have in my garden, they visit every day, and no, we do not feed them, they live from what ever they find in our gardens..
dedicated to Maggie..:)
"The modest rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat’ning horn,
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.."
W.Blake