View allAll Photos Tagged forboding
This whole evening felt like I was on a different planet.
I kept coming back to this particular ridge (famous for rock climbers) because of the green colors of the lichen & other organic something or other on the basalt rock. If it had been a more sunny dusk I think these may shine, so I want to come back here again on a more clear or sunny day (when its not 1000 degrees & full of rattlesnakes).
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
gewone vleiloerie/burchell's coucal/centropus burchelli
Also called the rainbird because its sombre doof, doof... call is said to forbode rain. And verily, the day after we saw this bird it rained. It is also a voracious bird which eats almost any prey smaller than itself including pigeons.
Sound: www.africam.com/wildlife/files/burchellscoucal3_0.mp3
He wondered if he had been right to bother, as he pushed the branches aside, carefully so that they didn't whip back in his face. The track from where the car park used to be was so overgrown, a stranger to these parts wouldn't have found their way. But some sort of satisfaction flowed to his head as he realised that the shape and feel of the path through the soles of his feet was familiar. And when the undergrowth thinned and his view opened out he felt a wave of recognition as he saw the little curved beach of mauve and purple slate shards, with the lakeside water lapping gently at its edge. And there was the bench, sitting empty and cold. But where was the tree, a hint of fear in his mind as his old eyes scanned to the right, fearful some wanton vandals had triumphed where others had failed? A frantic intense look into the poor light and then he noticed the shape, a bit further to the right than he remembered: ahhhh!. The Padarn Lone Tree lives on! Still looking much like it did when he was younger.
Younger? Younger, when he was last here aged 62?. For now it was exactly twenty years on, and progress across the beach of slate slivers was tricky under stiff legs and ankles. Yes, he had to admit he was pretty frail now, conscious of his age, as he carefully and slowly swivelled round to lower himself onto the bench. Why the hell hadn't they made it face down the lake towards the pass at Nant Peris? Well, no one else was about in the early morning gloom, to hear his whinge, as he weighed up if he thought, with a bit of effort he could get his legs up on the wood so he could sit looking out to the tree and the dark shape of his beloved Dinorwic, above and beyond.
It seemed strange there were no togs jostling for position with set up tripods and adjusted filters. But that was a long time ago. Before the pandemic. Life had changed. People didn't travel anymore, living literally in their own bubbles or spheres, stupid big plastic domes over their heads like fish bowls. But the world was now on Covid 25. Tens of millions had died in the last two decades. And now with this latest one, where criminal gangs had stolen viruses from the Russian laboratory and were currently holding the world to ransom while they hid in secret hidden lairs, there seemed no end in sight to the human misery.
He should have had his environment dome on this morning but he no longer gave a shit, too old to care any more. Too long lived to be scared.
He sat there, absorbing the view, savouring the fresh cool air as his mind chewed over what he was doing there. So many times he had been to this spot in happier times. With her. So many years he had followed her pert little butt, all over the country but especially in Snowdonia. She had such personality, character and a sense of fun. He had loved her right down to the little grey and white hairs that covered her bum. No, he wasn't some sort of perve but the little schnauzer had been far more than just a friend to him. On their own he could talk to her about anything, and although she had always been the yappy type, when they disagreed, he knew he would always win. But she was no longer with him. That was in the past.
Now it was so quiet. And it was chilly. Two mallards paddled past, swiftly without saying a word as if they were on their way to a meeting. And then everything was still again, the water flat, no breeze to rustle the leaves in the trees. He was alone with his thoughts. Until he remembered he had brought something special with him. It was hard and big against his thigh and he struggled to pull it out of his coat pocket but with relief he managed to get it free and hold it up in front of his face. Hmmm. As an afterthought when he left the house he had rammed a bottle of Hibiki Japanese Harmony whisky in his pocket. Now a smile formed on his face as he twisted the glass stopper and put the bottle to his lips. He only let a little flow into his mouth closing his lips around it and letting the spirit bathe his tongue in the smoothest rich, fiery golden honey on earth. And when he swallowed after a bit, wow, the sensation went all the way to his soul. His personal trainer had a twinkle in her eye when she said it was bad for him at his age. But he had an understanding with her, he thought, that meant it was alright.
How he wished he was her age again. All the things he had done: should he have done things differently? One life. With every day passed, one day less left to live. And he wanted to live. For another adventure. His eyes looked out to the lone tree and then cast a little left to the dark forboding shape of the quarry above, where he guessed his goats still lived. Yes, Life........... A thought crossed his mind. He heard Jim Bowen's voice on the vintage TV gameshow, Bullseye. "Look what you could have won!"
Shit, What could he have won if he had done things differently? Could he have been happier? His mind was hovering on that point, trying to imagine the possibilities when there was a rustle in the bushes behind the bench. Suddenly he remembered Darcy: He spun round. Where was she? Had she wandered off into the bushes whilst his mind had drifted? But the rustling intensified and out popped a white face with terrifying, crazy eyes. And short horns on its head. But his fear dissolved almost instantly. It was Esmerelda, a goat he had come to know in the quarry several years ago when he came across her in a slate shed with her hour old kid. No; not Darcy. She was long gone.
Esmerelda stayed with him then for a bit, chewing at the branches and low hanging fruit as he turned to look down the lake again. Yes, what if? What if he had his time again, even just from the age of 62? What should he have done differently in this one life? What could he have won instead? He was still thinking about that when he felt he should have another swig from the bottle and raised it to his lips. But it was already empty.
I love a scary cathedral. They can put you in such a melancholy and gloomy mood if you want them too. You can feel the overbearing saints from above judging your moves, and giving you a few bonus points in the big game if you light one of the votives. In a scientific study, it was proven than a votive makes a prayer 35% more likely to be granted.
from my daily photo blog at www.stuckincustoms.com
Thought I would go from one extreme to another with the processing on this one, would love to hear what you think, both my kids loved it, they wanted me to put zombies rising from the water. I declined.lol
Somedays, clouds are a gift! :)
A very nice find behind Hay House in Macon.
Seriously scary to View On Black
Dark rain clouds on the horizon.
Pink water of the lake.
Green cropping.
The colours of the Mallee in late winter.
I've been a huge fan of the dark, foreboding imagery of Hugh Ferriss' nightmarish imagination since I first saw an exhibition of his work at the Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library at Columbia University about 15 years ago. This is one of my favorites.
My favorite abandonments are those surrounded by trees and overgrowth. The ones that seem to appear out of nowhere and are not easily approached. It's as if nature has thrown up a protective cordon of tangled vegetation to keep the curious at bay. It adds greatly to the sense of surrender. There's also a sinister quality that I love. I simply don't get these feelings at sites where the lawn is kept neatly mowed right up to the foundation of the abandoned structure.
I had no idea that Jersey fell under Nazi occupation during the 2nd World War. Intriguingly, it was the great man himself, Churchill who felt the citizens of Jersey where not worth rescuing from the appalling reign of terror.
You can feel the damp, cold, fear and horror exuding from the walls and the labyrinthine tunnels. The tunnels were carved out by slave labour from Jersey, Europe and beyond. Originally built as a hospital for Nazi soldiers, the hospital soon turned into an exercise in Nazi-style punishment and near-starvation for the labourers.
The present day state of the tunnels is both educative and creative; the mixture of entertaining history lessons and imaginative art "installations" provides an evocative and, at times, harrowing insight into the holocaust.
Jersey War Tunnels Website
:-)
Simon
I love the contrast between the warm and welcoming colours of the sand and the bleak desolate cold icy loch and forboding skyline of the Black Mount beyond.. with the lines in the shot leading you down a bleak cold path...
With her back to the viewer, Wyeth's subject Anna Christina Olson stares into the distance, looking out at her farmhouse in Cushing, Maine. Suffering from a degenerative muscular disease, Christina was unable to walk. Wyeth said that she was "limited physically but by no means spiritually" and that "the challenge was to do justice to her extraordinary conquest of a life which most people would consider hopeless." Her gaunt arms and legs and her slight frame make the figure seem vulnerable and isolated in the expansive field, and the viewer is put in an ambiguous position, looking at her from behind. The scene contains a sense of vulnerability, contributing to a certain forboding feeling.
To say this is a true portrait of Christina Olson, though, would be misleading. While the pink dress and slim limbs belong to the then 55-year-old Olson, Wyeth used his young wife Betsy as the actual model here, thus fusing Christina's aging and abnormal body with that of a healthy, young one. Even though Wyeth wanted to depict Olson's plight, it can be interpreted that Wyeth made the subject an "Everywoman".
Christina's World presents an intriguing, open-ended narrative that appeals to the imagination. Who is Christina? Why is she in a field? Is that her house? Why does she seem to be crawling? While a seemingly straightforward painting, Christina's World is, in fact, characteristic of Wyeth's version of Magic Realism, which is not fantastical or overtly surrealistic but more subtle and unsettling in its hyper-realism. As one curator explained, Wyeth's paintings "are filled with hidden metaphors that explore common themes of memory, nostalgia and loss." And the artist himself said, "Magic! It's what makes things sublime. It's the difference between a picture that is profound art and just a painting of an object."
The profundity that Wyeth was able to capture in this painting makes it one of the most well-known and admired pieces that Wyeth ever produced; however, it was not his personal favorite. Wyeth felt that the painting would have been more successful without the figure in the field. He remarked to an interviewer, "When I was painting Christina's World I would sit there by the hours working on the grass, and I began to feel I was really out in the field. I got lost in the texture of the thing. I remember going down into the field and grabbing up a section of earth and setting it on the base of my easel. It wasn't a painting I was working on. I was actually working on the ground itself."
Tempera on panel - The Museum of Modern Art, New York
Nothing like some heavy fog to make Lake Superior instantly mysterious and forboding. 20230630__D3F3776
"And so, perhaps, the truth winds somewhere between the road to Glastonbury, Isle of the Priests, and the road to Avalon, lost forever in the mists of the Summer Sea."
— Marion Zimmer Bradley (The Mists of Avalon)
Another grey day in Avalon... taken today using a Nikon V1 with a little drama created using HDR Efex Pro in Photoshop CS5... it was really cold and windy up there ツ ツ ツ
*Nikon 1 V1 and 18.5mm 1 Nikkor Lens
ISO100 1/500sec at f2.8 and 18.5mm
My work is for sale via Getty Images and at Redbubble and 500px
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©2012- Tom Raven - Toute reproduction, même partielle INTERDITE
Sometimes an early evening can promise a dry trip to the public house if you stay on the right side of the valley and the wind is behaving
“THE WET” AND “THE DRY” IN THE NORTHERN AUSTRALIAN TROPICS
The Northern Tropics of Australia in the Darwin region are described as having only 2 seasons – the “wet season” (or simply “The Wet”)(broadly November to April) and the “dry season” (or simply “The Dry”) (May to October). There is no local designation of Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, although it should be noted that some ancient local indigenous calendars describe up to 8 seasons, categorised by not only weather but also flowering and fruiting of edible plants, appearance of migratory animals as food sources, river heights, etc.
While Europeans settled Darwin in the 1860s, indigenous Australians have occupied the area for at least 40,000 years.
In broad terms, the main differences between the Wet and the Dry relate to humidity levels, prevailing wind direction, and (as the names imply) rain, or the absence of rain.
Darwin has no frost, no snow and no hail. Darwin is also largely flat and unelevated, with few locations exceeding 30 metres above sea level.
THE WET – NOVEMBER TO APRIL
During the Wet, temperatures range from a minimum of 27 – 28C overnight (sometimes not dropping below 30C) and 34 – 36C during the day. Humidity levels are in the range of 75 – 95%.
The prevailing wind direction is from the North West (i.e. from the Timor Sea), except during the frequent storms, which normally come from the South East.
Cyclones (the local name for a typhoon or hurricane) also form during the Wet as part of monsoon trough activity. The wind from a cyclone can come from any direction, depending on the relationship between the cyclone’s eye and the observer’s position.
Rainfall during the Wet approaches 2,000 mm; with the record for a 6 month Wet season period being 3,000 mm. It should be noted that due to quite obvious climatic changes these totals have not been reached in recent years and this may herald a permanent change to the local climate.
Sea temperature during the Wet is around 32C.
THE DRY – MAY TO OCTOBER
During the Dry, temperatures range from a typical minimum of 20 - 21C overnight (on rare occasions dropping to 16C) and 30 -31C during the day. Humidity levels are in the range of 10 - 30%.
The prevailing wind direction is from the South East (i.e. from the direction of the Great Australian Desert); with an occasional light North West sea breeze rising in the late afternoon.
The sky is largely cloudless, with the occasional cumulus cloud rising above wetlands or generated by bushfire smoke.
There is virtually no rain between April and October.
Because of the absence of rain, a high bushfire danger exists throughout the area during the Dry, with the highest risk occurring in August and September, before the next Wet season storms occur. During these months, the humidity is very low and the South East winds are at their strongest – up to 30 knots (around 55 km/hr).
Bushfire smoke blows out to sea and causes spectacular sunset effects.
Look at these insane clouds! The weather over most of Scotland was quite well-reported on New Year's Eve 2006, and pretty well everywhere had to cancel their outdoor celebrations due to 80mph gusty winds and torrential downpours.
...But I never saw photos of this on the news - some amazing clouds over Edinburgh around the time of sunset!
The enigma of a shadow.
So deep, so forboding, so mysterious, and yet for all their darkness, shadows exist only in the presence of light.
Some friends are like that.
As the light weakens, and the darkness rises, they grow dimmer, and dimmer still, until they are no more.
Lost to the darkness.
But bring up your inner light, and they appear again. Like magic.
S. Zielke
~~Once again, my kitchen table, a black backdrop, a hardy tulip (boy, this bunch is surviviing well), and strong sunlight provided all the elements necessary for this shot. I brought up the color behind the shadow just a tad.~~
a fun day of surfing with Brando at the 'con ended with a fast approaching storm, coincidentally rolling in as soon as I swam out with my waterhousing.
Casuarina Coastal Reserve, Brinkin, Darwin, Northern Territory, Australia (500 km SE of East Timor).
Casuarina Coastal Reserve is a coastal reserve in the northern area of Darwin in the Northern Territory of Australia.
The reserve comprises approximately 1,361 hectares (3,363 acres) of habitats between Rapid Creek and Buffalo Creek.
The area includes 8 kilometres (5 mi) of sandy beaches backed by Casuarina trees and sandstone cliffs. The reserve includes areas of mangroves, paperbark forests and monsoon vine thickets.
The Buffalo Creek boat ramp was built in the early 1970s and the reserve area was acquired by the Commonwealth in 1978. During the 1980s the boat ramp was upgraded and a carpark and toilets were constructed nearby. In 2001 facilities were upgraded and the second management plan was completed.
Fauna found within the park include ospreys, sea eagles, cormorants, gulls and a variety of marine life including crocodiles. Mammals found in the area include the northern brushtail possum and the northern brown bandicoot which both thrive in the forests.