View allAll Photos Tagged methodical
Scrub Jays are bullies. Plain and simple. Quite frankly, they don't care if you can fly, bark or meow. They will pick on you. There is no such thing as a communal bird feeder; it's theirs! We had two Jays that frequented the backyard. I used to give them peanuts in the shell. They were very methodical. Grab one peanut, hide it, grab another peanut, hide it. The dogs sniffed out most of the peanuts and ate them. That kind of disoriented the Jays because they were sure about the hiding locations. The Jays would talk to each other. "Hey, did you steal my nuts?" "Why would I steal your nuts, I've got my own nuts!" Then they would go pick on other birds or the dogs or the cat. Woody the Cat thought it was hilarious to watch the Jays look for missing nuts.
Bakersfield, California 2011
Due to the methodically nonsensical approach I take to sorting photos, this shot of 210 has surfaced on Flickr before the rest of the photos taken on the same day... despite the fact I initially binned this photo off because I’d already uploaded one of 210. Then I un-binned it because this picture is actually pretty decent.
King Street, Nottingham
YD73 FSS
14.7.25
"All human errors are impatience, the premature breaking off of what is methodical, an apparent fencing in of the apparent thing." -Franz Kafka. Sorry couldn't resist; took me 45 minutes sitting there to get someone who stood still long enough!
Nikkormat FTn
Micro Nikkor Auto 3.5/55mm
Kodak Tmax 100
Cairo shut his eyes and was unconscious. Spade emptied the unconscious man’s pockets one by one, working methodically, moving the lax body when necessary, making a pile of the pockets’ contents on the desk.
painting on linen (painted over a methodical field covered in charcoal)
sold. permanent collection, pgh, pa.
This Tufted Titmouse was seen at the bird feeder outside the Visitors Centre at Rondeau Provincial Park. Tufted Titmice are acrobatic foragers if a bit slower and more methodical than chickadees. They often flock with chickadees, nuthatches, and woodpeckers and are regular visitors to feeders, where they are assertive over smaller birds. Their flight tends to be fluttery but level rather than undulating.
Sperry Rail Service has been methodically converting its operations to hi-rail trucks, so I consider this a pretty great find. Of all the Sperry cars, I've probably shot this one the most over the past 20+ years. Glad to see it still in operation.
SRS 145 backs past former Illinois Central "HX" Tower at Ashkum, IL.
I do not know how to paint this. I do not know how to frame it. It has colours and these colours come in definite shapes and these shapes diverge. I count them through the window. I count them out with you incessantly, patiently, methodically, my arms crossing yours and we laugh. Staring at you as you rest undisturbed, I sweat on my tries and progress is made, the wings of control refracted against the sandstorm blocking our view. If you knew and if you could see them one by one with precision you would say they encompass the candid horizon. And as our vision dissolves and your flesh evaporates between my hands in a blast of gold and anger, impatient and subdued like quartz improperly cut by the hands of a child, these shapes collapse.
Now you can tell if I had the respect due to my ancient fathers, to my own father, the respect for his dying face, the face I ought to shave in his sick days with the affection soon to become memory vague, I would lay my hands onto your blind hazel eyes and let go. But I have no such respect and I have not aged as you wished. Yes, I know, so many times, to the obnoxious closing of our lips, to exhaustion, to the annihilation of senses you have told me that I was wrong. And yes, I was wrong. And yet, as the blade cuts us and our blood goes on to feed the next round of stars, your lunacy fits in nicely with mine.
That is my life, cherished and inevitable, missing, as the shades of our guilt repel the listening wind that yes, one more day, one more time, more promises to fill our basket and be the one branch that keeps the other branches up, facing the warmth of our wounds, screaming where sound won't travel.
Now you can tell these repetitions, these harmonies, the blood stains on your teeth I scrape avid with mine like chords entangled between the eyes of a spider, the blinding white clouds coming down from the sky ravenous for your skin as you sleep and his face comes to visit you, a condensate of magnesium and granite. In his last days, looking as he does from behind the window, never condescending, alien and detached in every meticulous way, waving his left hand right into your face and you stare at his estranged old eyes, judging and heavy, his relentlessly beautiful eyes. And I wave for my eyes to be yours and stare at his face as he shakes you and snaps his arms and scares with the harsh and incoherent slap of his voice and what I see is the face of a man who does not know.
It is a chant that keeps me alive, the notes of a broken language, the shades of a forgotten circle of mania. There I stand by the window as the sins get accounted and paid for, there I stand as the leftover storm crashing down in waves and the smell of indifference fills the air and you sing without a word, without a voice, without reason.
Note for Group Admins: The author of this text is myself.
A Wicked Turn
Acte 19
One must be Methodical
Dropping her hand, she questioned him…
“What have you forgotten to do, my dear thief?”
He stood still, hoping she would just obligingly tell him what to do next.
She happily did so...
“My closet! Gaston your always forgetting any good burglar worth his salt checks a damsel’s closet for brooches and such left on by ladies far too lazy to remove them from one's party frocks. I swear Gaston You would make a horrible burglar in real life. You would positively starve if it were not for being directed by someone like me!”
She chortled at her wit.
He just smiled, thanking her inwardly for being ever so much a big help to her poor Darling ‘Gaston’!
He turned to his right and headed straight to the closet, curious as to what he was expected to find inside?
Opening the door, a long floor length mirror was revealed, allowing one to see into the interior of the bedroom behind him.
Including the reflection of his most helpful victim as she stood there in all her jewelled and tight-fitting emerald satin attired glory!
She keenly watching his progress with an eager interest, as he stole a look at her reflection, muttering happily to himself…
“Best get this over with quickly, then attend to the lady and her finery!”
He turned to look back inside, and was met with a designer like an assortment of colourful dresses, gowns, and other fancy attire!
A quite nice, if not downright beguiling, display of soft velvets, slinky silks, sleek satins, frilled lace, and shiny leather.
He quickly began his task at hand, letting his thinly gloved fingers feel through the wonderfully sleek fabrics for anything hard and metallic.
On one velvet number he felt something like a necklace around its top, he pulled it out, but disappointedly it was a rhinestone collared frock.
He tossed it onto the bed and resumed his search as she could be heard softly giggling behind him...
“Nope, nothing on that one, but don’t quit just yet!
He stole a glance at her from the mirror, then he turned back into working the closet.
The glance revealed that his ‘mentor’ was watching him eagerly, her whole being quivering in anticipation head down to spiky heeled foot!
He fingered a satiny white ruffled blouse, he decided he had better keep tabs on this one, still not sure what exactly her game was all on about?
He muttered to himself…
“They were her jewels after all, weren’t they? Indeed, rather valuable for mere playthings!”
There had to be something inside here!
He thought as he let drop the satin blouse and plunged his gloved hands inside again and felt around.
This time he was rewarded by feeling a slight prick of something solid and sharp.
He pulled out a luxuriously long black satin number and saw it had two ruby clips attached to its bodice.
He held it up to the mirror so she could see.
she clapped gleefully, watching him pull free the ruby clips from the evening gown and casually flipped them into his bag on the floor.
“Well done Gaston!”
He looked up at her, as the slinky black gown was indifferently added to the growing pile on her bed.
He could see by her reflection that she was excitedly eating it up.
Then she suddenly resumed back into her character of being the hapless victim.
And began to miserably plead…
“Please mister burglar don't take everything of mine! I am sure there is nothing more inside!”
He smiled, wondering how she would react when she eventually found out that indeed, she was a hapless victim of her game!?
Turning his attention once again to her closet he moved aside the hangers, revealing a set of shelves set in the back that contained a nice selection of sensible shoes, wedged pumps, glossy spiked heels and designer style purses.
One purse caught his ever-appraising eyes, a small gold clutch with what looked like (and probably was) a diamonded clasp!
He pulled it out and tossed the expensive bugger into the bag.
“Oui , Good eye Gaston! It's almost like you were a real thief.”
She gurgled this, shivering in delight, as her earrings and necklace flickered along with her figure, like uncontrollable wildfires.
He watched the enticing show from her reflection in the handy door length mirror.
Then he turned back to the closet.
For, as he was moving the dresses over to look into the shelves, his eye had caught sight of a black leather jacket with a belt studded by what must have been a thousand rhinestones.
He now pulled it out and searched its pockets, mainly to tease her a bit further, for he imagined that “Gaston” would do such a thing!
So, he was utterly surprised when his gloved fingertips felt something cold and a bit weighty in a side pocket!
He slipped it out and found he was holding a solid gold cigarette case, which he added to the ever-growing collection in his bag!
His “Mentor” trilled as he did so, exclaiming with happy surprise...
“I had wondered where that had gotten off to luv! The matching lighter should be there too!”
He reached back in, and there it was, as well as a small ivory and ebony gold ringed cigarette holder.
Both of which quickly joined their companion in the now bulging bag.
He then pulled off the shimmery belt.
Even with rhinestones, it was worth a pretty penny he reasoned.
As started to pitch it into the case, he heard the Lady helpfully exclaim in the background, a good idea she said excitedly.
“Save that for when you tie me up to take my jewels!”
Shaking his head, why not? he tossed the belt to the helpful lass’s feet…
Thinking he was quite finished with the closet as he held the leather jacket, he for no rhyme or reason, took the time to hang it back up rather than adding it to the pile on the bed.
But It was as he did so that something, a most decidedly not rhinestone something, flashed in the dim lights in the gap that had been made where the leather jacket had hung!
He eagerly reached in and pulled out a lovely long brown, silky soft, liquidly appearing gown.
Holding it up triumphantly, he looked down at the dazzling sparkles of a magnificent gem-encrusted brooch that was suspended from the gown’s wide centre waistline.
“Good show Gaston!”
She exclaimed in the background.
His eyes left the brooch and looked into the mirror at her.
She was clapping, rings and bracelets, earrings and Coronet, the whole lot, erupting into a million pinpricks of fire as she did so!
He felt his manhood rising precariously as he looked her over, feeling the effect, even from this distance, her primitively carnal arousal!
She eagerly continued, spilling her emotions into her words!
“Mon Mari, I was going to tease you later if you were to ‘ave missed that one, and I was sure you were going to!”
“Tsk!” he said to himself. wonder what the teasing part would have entailed!
At the same time his mind was picturing this, he automatically, without taking his eyes off the mirror, pulled off the brooch and nonchalantly pocketing the breathtakingly pretty jewel before throwing the scintillatingly downy soft feeling soft gown onto the shiny pile already laying strewn about the bed.
It flashed through his mind that the fancy dresses strewn about could have been the striplings from that many jewel encrusted maidens, like this one, and what a delightful haul that would have been to carry out!
Savouring those thoughts, he turned once again to focus his attention, on the rather all too helpful Miss, his eyes traveling unabashedly up and down her figure.
Time was a-wasting!
©JaneBrown2020 All Rights Reserved. This image is not available for use on websites, blogs or other media without explicit written permission
I shall be very much on and off flickr for the next couple of weeks because I have foolishly set myself the task of decorating my office study room . . . This will help me spring clean it!
When I start out to decorate a room everything is done in an orderly fashion. As decorating progresses, I plan my painting day in an orderly fashion . . . the rest of the fashion has become unfashionable. By the time I finish I promise myself that when the room is back I shall clean the whole house in an orderly fashion!
And somehow I arrive at an equilibrium which is fair enough!
Off in a few minutes to clap our wonderful NHS and carers . . . this is ourThursday 8pm regular appointment with many millions of other people . . .
Undisturbed snow blankets fold perfect covers for complicated details, methodically whitening a quiet rural setting in the tiny community of Lajord in Southern Saskatchewan. During those morning hours I imagined hearing the overhead power lines humming carols with melodies shifting, presenting songs of hope, possibility, and renewal. I'd left behind a couple of wreaths for good measure.
Wishing all of You my Flickr Friends a generous holiday spirit and festive goodwill.
Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas~
As we close the door soon on our vast Flickr 2013 collection of digital imagery, Thank You for the generous inspiration provided and precious moments celebrated. Good shooting and much success for next year.
I'll have ample opportunity over the next ten days to test my fingers resilience to cold temperatures, and explore winter landscapes that remain untouched.
*Please view LARGE for best Saskatchewan rural detail
**Textures courtesy of various sources on Flickr
***Thank You for your generous support, visits, comments, and favourites throughout 2013!
247) Intermediate Egret
Intermediate Egret, Mesophoyx intermedia, Bangau
It is a resident breeder from east Africa across the Indian subcontinent to Southeast Asia and Australia. This species, as its scientific name implies, is intermediate in size between the great egret and smaller white egrets like the little egret and cattle egret, though nearer to little than great. All-white plumage, generally dark legs and a thickish yellow bill. The intermediate egret stalks its prey methodically in shallow coastal or fresh water, including flooded fields. It eats fish, frogs, crustaceans and insects. It often nests in colonies with other herons, usually on platforms of sticks in trees or shrubs.
Tiada nama khas tempatan untuk spesis ini. Ia secara amnya dipanggil bangau. Saiznya antara Bangau Besar dan Bangau Kerbau. Seperti bangau lain, ia adalah pelawat tetap dari Afrika Timur yang terbang melintasi India untuk ke Asia Tenggara dan Australia.
Exif: f8, 1/1000, ISO 500, focal length 500mm, Cik Canon EOS 50D, lens Canon 400mm, TC 2.0, tripod Feisol
Great Egret ~ #102 in Explore 4/5/14
Saint Augustine, Florida
(another photo a few seconds before
and a 6-shot series in the comments)
One of my favourite partners in the garden is the cute but methodical ladybug. Aphids were a big problem last summer, but the ladybugs helped to keep the pests from taking over the flower garden. See large. The photo was taken in June 2024, with my trusty Olympus digital camera. Enjoy and stay well.
The world looks like broken glass to me. We all can handle only so much. Sometimes it’s like walking on eggshells but that pressure needs to come out. Methodically, photography can be that release. Sometimes it’s like the sound of glass cutting as it washes you up on the shore. You try to think of ways to channel that anger or hurt into something explosive instead of productive and healing, but as much as your head is telling you it won’t help, do it anyway. It’s always so surprising and that’s why hobbies and creatives are so important. It’s a gift that anybody can learn to love and appreciate and feel better about life.
"Karlstadt is a town in the Main-Spessart in the Regierungsbezirk of Lower Franconia (Unterfranken) in Bavaria, Germany. It is the administrative centre of Main-Spessart (Kreisstadt), and has a population of around 15,000.
Karlstadt lies on the River Main in the district (Landkreis) of Main-Spessart, roughly 25 km north of the city of Würzburg. It belongs to the Main-Franconian wine-growing region. The town itself is located on the right bank of the river, but the municipal territory extends to the left bank.
Since the amalgamations in 1978, Karlstadt's Stadtteile have been Gambach, Heßlar, Karlburg, Karlstadt, Laudenbach, Mühlbach, Rohrbach, Stadelhofen, Stetten, and Wiesenfeld.
From the late 6th to the mid-13th century, the settlement of Karlburg with its monastery and harbor was located on the west bank of the Main. It grew up around the Karlsburg, a castle perched high over the community, that was destroyed in the German Peasants' War in 1525.
In 1202, Karlstadt itself was founded by Konrad von Querfurt, Bishop of Würzburg. The town was methodically laid out with a nearly rectangular plan to defend Würzburg territory against the Counts of Rieneck. The plan is still well preserved today. The streets in the old town are laid out much like a chessboard, but for military reasons they are not quite straight.
In 1225, Karlstadt had its first documentary mention. In 1236, the castle and the village of Karlburg were destroyed in the Rieneck Feud. In 1244, winegrowing in Karlstadt was mentioned for the first time. From 1277 comes the earliest evidence of the town seal. In 1304, the town fortifications were finished. The parish of Karlstadt was first named in 1339. In 1369 a hospital was founded. Between 1370 and 1515, remodelling work was being done on the first, Romanesque parish church to turn it into a Gothic hall church. About 1400, Karlstadt became for a short time the seat of an episcopal mint. The former Oberamt of the Princely Electorate (Hochstift) of Würzburg was, after Secularization, in Bavaria's favour, passed in 1805 to Grand Duke Ferdinando III of Tuscany to form the Grand Duchy of Würzburg, and passed with this to the Kingdom of Bavaria.
The Jewish residents of the town had a synagogue as early as the Middle Ages. The town's synagogue was destroyed on Kristallnacht (the Night of Broken Glass, 9 November 1938) by Nazi SA men, SS, and Hitler Youth, as well as other local residents. Its destruction is recalled by a plaque at the synagogue's former site. The homes of Jewish residents were attacked as well, the possessions therein were looted or brought to the square in front of the town hall where they were burned, and the Jews living in the town were beaten.
Lower Franconia (German: Unterfranken) is one of seven districts of Bavaria, Germany. The districts of Lower, Middle and Upper Franconia make up the region of Franconia. It consists of nine districts and 308 municipalities (including three cities).
After the founding of the Kingdom of Bavaria the state was totally reorganised and, in 1808, divided into 15 administrative government regions (German: Regierungsbezirke, singular Regierungsbezirk), in Bavaria called Kreise (singular: Kreis). They were created in the fashion of the French departements, quite even in size and population, and named after their main rivers.
In the following years, due to territorial changes (e. g. loss of Tyrol, addition of the Palatinate), the number of Kreise was reduced to 8. One of these was the Untermainkreis (Lower Main District). In 1837 king Ludwig I of Bavaria renamed the Kreise after historical territorial names and tribes of the area. This also involved some border changes or territorial swaps. Thus the name Untermainkreis changed to Lower Franconia and Aschaffenburg, but the city name was dropped in the middle of the 20th century, leaving just Lower Franconia.
From 1933, the regional Nazi Gauleiter, Otto Hellmuth, (who had renamed his party Gau "Mainfranken") insisted on renaming the government district Mainfranken as well. He encountered resistance from Bavarian state authorities but finally succeeded in having the name of the district changed, effective 1 June 1938. After 1945 the name Unterfranken was restored.
Franconia (German: Franken, pronounced [ˈfʁaŋkŋ̍]; Franconian: Franggn [ˈfrɑŋɡŋ̍]; Bavarian: Frankn) is a region of Germany, characterised by its culture and Franconian dialect (German: Fränkisch).
Franconia is made up of the three Regierungsbezirke of Lower, Middle and Upper Franconia in Bavaria, the adjacent, Franconian-speaking, South Thuringia, south of the Thuringian Forest—which constitutes the language boundary between Franconian and Thuringian— and the eastern parts of Heilbronn-Franconia in Baden-Württemberg.
Those parts of the Vogtland lying in Saxony (largest city: Plauen) are sometimes regarded as Franconian as well, because the Vogtlandian dialects are mostly East Franconian. The inhabitants of Saxon Vogtland, however, mostly do not consider themselves as Franconian. On the other hand, the inhabitants of the Hessian-speaking parts of Lower Franconia west of the Spessart (largest city: Aschaffenburg) do consider themselves as Franconian, although not speaking the dialect. Heilbronn-Franconia's largest city of Heilbronn and its surrounding areas are South Franconian-speaking, and therefore only sometimes regarded as Franconian. In Hesse, the east of the Fulda District is Franconian-speaking, and parts of the Oden Forest District are sometimes regarded as Franconian for historical reasons, but a Franconian identity did not develop there.
Franconia's largest city and unofficial capital is Nuremberg, which is contiguous with Erlangen and Fürth, with which it forms the Franconian conurbation with around 1.3 million inhabitants. Other important Franconian cities are Würzburg, Bamberg, Bayreuth, Ansbach and Coburg in Bavaria, Suhl and Meiningen in Thuringia, and Schwäbisch Hall in Baden-Württemberg.
The German word Franken—Franconians—also refers to the ethnic group, which is mainly to be found in this region. They are to be distinguished from the Germanic people of the Franks, and historically formed their easternmost settlement area. The origins of Franconia lie in the settlement of the Franks from the 6th century in the area probably populated until then mainly by the Elbe Germanic people in the Main river area, known from the 9th century as East Francia (Francia Orientalis). In the Middle Ages the region formed much of the eastern part of the Duchy of Franconia and, from 1500, the Franconian Circle. The restructuring of the south German states by Napoleon, after the demise of the Holy Roman Empire, saw most of Franconia awarded to Bavaria." - info from Wikipedia.
Summer 2019 I did a solo cycling tour across Europe through 12 countries over the course of 3 months. I began my adventure in Edinburgh, Scotland and finished in Florence, Italy cycling 8,816 km. During my trip I took 47,000 photos.
Now on Instagram.
Running into these tiny birds always make me happy. They always travel in flocks of a dozen or more and constantly make tiny lisping calls to one another to keep in touch. They specialize in eating small insects off of trees, and if you watch them for a while you'll see them methodically travel from one tree to the next, scouring each in turn.
«Отпускаю тебя Белая Птица»
Эта фотография сделана много лет назад в СССР , за Полярным кругом ,в республике
Коми , в лесотундровой необжитой местности .
Был апрель месяц, морозные дни все чаще сменялись оттепелями . Перепады температуры -15С - +5С град. Толщина снега в лесу достигала более метра и передвигаться там можно только на охотничьих лыжах .
Для разнообразия своего питания, местные охотники ставили ловчие петли на белых куропаток. Куропатки, попав в них при сильных морозах, быстро превращалась свежемороженый продукт, а охотнику оставалось только каждое утро собирать добычу.
В один из дней охотник вернулся с обхода в недоумении , На вопрос: «что случилось», он рассказал, что большая часть их добычи испорчены . Какой то зверек или птица аккуратно выгрызает из куропаток сердце , а все остальное остается нетронутым. Так
продолжалось насколько дней , воришка приходил всегда раньше человека .
Меня попросили найти этого «наглеца» и ответить на вопрос : Кто он и откуда?
В один из по-весеннему теплых дней , я взял свой Pentacon Six и пошел на лыжах по охотничьему маршруту с робкой надеждой кого то выследить. Ответ был найден «выгрызателем сердец» оказался местный ГОРНОСТАЙ. Он методично шел по лыжне и портил трофеи охотника.
Горностая сфотографировать не удалось, но подходя к очередной ловчей петле я увидел
запутавшуюся в стропе КУРОПАТКУ. Она была жива и невредима и смотрела на меня вопросительным взглядом . Ее судьба была в моей власти.
Решение было принято мгновенно. Я вытащил ее, почти замершую из петли , распутал ловчие петли и засунул под полушубок чтобы отогреть. Убедившись что птица в порядке, посадил на снег. Некоторое время КУРОПАТКА в оцепенении сидела неподвижно , как бы позируя для фотопортрета , затем поднялось облако снежной пыли , характерный звук
хлопающих крыльев и удаляющийся силуэт СВОБОДНОЙ БЕЛОЙ КУРОПАТКИ.
Этот жизненный опыт вызвал у меня много вопросов. Я задумался о том, насколько это правильно, убивать животных ради удовольствия и еды. Я начал погружаться в философию ГЛУБИННОЙ ЭКОЛОГИИ основная идею которой в том, что все живое имеет такие же права на жизнь как и человек. Я больше не участвую в охоте . Я осознал, что мир вокруг нас уникален и бесценен, и мы должны заботиться о нем.
А .Суховский
Pentacon SIX . Biometar80. Cвема65 . 6x6
"I let you go White Bird"
This photo was taken many years ago in the USSR, beyond the Arctic Circle, in the republic
Komi, in the forest-tundra outback.
It was April, frosty days were increasingly replaced by thaws. Temperature drops -15С - +5С deg. The thickness of the snow in the forest reached more than a meter and you can move there only on hunting skis.
To diversify their diet, local hunters put trapping nooses on white partridges. Partridges, having got into them during severe frosts, quickly turned into a fresh-frozen product, and the hunter had only to collect prey every morning.
One day, the hunter returned from a detour in bewilderment. When asked: “what happened”, he said that most of their prey was spoiled. Some kind of animal or bird carefully gnaws the heart out of partridges, and everything else remains untouched. So
lasted several days, the thief always came before the man.
I was asked to find this "impudent" and answer the question: Who is he and where does he come from?
On one of the warm spring days, I took my Pentacon Six and went skiing along the hunting route with the timid hope of tracking down someone. The answer was found by the "heart-eater" turned out to be a local ERMINE. He methodically walked along the track and spoiled the hunter's trophies.
It was not possible to photograph the ermine, but as I approached the next trapping loop, I saw
entangled in a sling partridge. She was alive and unharmed and looked at me with a questioning look. Her fate was in my power.
The decision was made instantly. I pulled her, almost frozen from the noose, grew trapping nooses and put her under a short fur coat to warm her. After making sure that the bird is in order, he planted it on the snow. For some time, the PARTOWAGE sat motionless in a daze, as if posing for a photo portrait, then a cloud of snow dust rose, a characteristic sound
flapping wings and the receding silhouette of a FREE PARTRIDGE.
This life experience raised many questions in me. I thought about how right it is to kill animals for pleasure and food. I began to dive into the philosophy of DEEP ECOLOGY, the main idea of which is that all living things have the same rights to life as a person. I no longer participate in the hunt. I realized that the world around us is unique and priceless, and we must take care of it.
A. Sukhovsky
Pentacon SIX . Biometar80. Cвема65 . 6x6
The New York Times articles on the world refugee problem:
CRISIS IN THE BALKANS: THE REFUGEE DRAMA; Refugees Tell of Methodical Emptying of Pristina
www.nytimes.com/1999/04/02/world/crisis-balkans-refugee-d...
Syria: Typhoid Threatens Refugees
www.nytimes.com/2015/08/20/world/middleeast/syria-typhoid...
CRISIS IN THE BALKANS; Refugee Flood Swamps Havens
www.nytimes.com/1999/03/31/world/crisis-in-the-balkans-re...
U.N. Dispute Brings West Bank Differences to the Fore
www.nytimes.com/2014/01/21/world/middleeast/un-dispute-br...
Washington Post
Conditions are horrific at Greece’s ‘island prisons’ for refugees. Is that the point?
www.washingtonpost.com/world/europe/conditions-are-horrif...
Sent home to a deadly nightmare by Trump’s America
www.washingtonpost.com/news/theworldpost/wp/2018/01/15/lg...
17 photo stories from 2017
www.washingtonpost.com/news/worldviews/wp/2017/12/31/17-p...
To curb the migrant crisis, the world must invest in Africa
www.washingtonpost.com/news/theworldpost/wp/2017/12/19/in...
There is so much more to read and perhaps if we read and understand the situation better we will be more compassionate.
Sincerely if the world worked together unselfishly we could accommodate most, if not all of the refugees. I hope that this will happen in 2018!
Thank you for your kind visit. Have a wonderful and beautiful day! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
This huge ball of stars — around 100 billion in total — is an elliptical galaxy located some 55 million light-years away from us. Known as Messier 89, this galaxy appears to be perfectly spherical; this is unusual for elliptical galaxies, which tend to be elongated ellipsoids. The apparently spherical nature of Messier 89 could, however, be a trick of perspective, and be caused by its orientation relative to the Earth.
Messier 89 is slightly smaller than the Milky Way, but has a few interesting features that stretch far out into the surrounding space. One structure of gas and dust extends up to 150 000 light-years out from the galaxy’s centre, which is known to house a supermassive black hole. Jets of heated particles reach out to 100 000 light-years from the galaxy, suggesting that Messier 89 may have once been far more active — perhaps an active quasar or radio galaxy — than it is now. It is also surrounded by an extensive system of shells and plumes, which may have been caused by past mergers with smaller galaxies — and implies that Messier 89 as we know it may have formed in the relatively recent past.
Messier 89 was discovered by astronomer Charles Messier in 1781, when Messier had been cataloguing astronomical objects for 23 years — ever since he mistook a faint object in the sky for Halley’s Comet. Upon closer inspection, he realised the object was actually the Crab Nebula. To prevent other astronomers from making the same error, he decided to catalogue all the bright, deep-sky objects that could potentially be mistaken for comets. His methodical observations of the night sky led to the first comprehensive catalogue of astronomical objects: the Messier catalogue! Messier 89 holds the record for being the last ever giant elliptical to be found by Messier, and the most perfectly spherical galaxy in the entire catalogue of 110 objects.
Credits: ESA/Hubble & NASA, S. Faber et al.; CC BY 4.0
Year 2088.
A revolutionary leap in advanced rocket propulsion had shattered old frontiers. Humanity, no longer bound by the confines of the Solar System, began reaching outward—toward the stars. The great powers turned their gaze to neighboring systems, launching expeditions with relentless ambition.
The Russian nuclear space fleet advanced methodically, planetoid by planetoid, laying down autonomous research outposts like breadcrumbs across the void. Each mission, another step into the unknown.
Sergey was just another crew member—an astronaut trained more by circumstance than destiny. He and a small team had been deployed to a nameless, rock-strewn world. It didn’t even earn the dignity of a name, only a five-character alphanumeric code. But it had an atmosphere—and in deep space, that alone was enough to warrant interest.
Above him, the sky ignited with the light of departing ships—bright arcs carving through the dark as the fleet accelerated toward the next target. Sergey trudged across the desolate stone wastes, unaware that just beneath his boots, something ancient and alive stirred.
Unaware that fate had chosen him—a quiet man from Bryansk—for a moment that would forever divide human history into two eras: Before Contact… and After.
Try to praise the mutilated world
Remeber June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rose wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awated others.
You've seen the refugees going nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns."
-- Adam Zagajewski, 2000
Boudica is to my mind, probably the bear most representative of peoples stereotypical perceptions of North American bears in general. Unabashedly assertive if not aggressive, direct, and to the point, she tolerates no sub-adult males in her range, she can intimidate with a glance and does so routinely. In 2016 she methodically went about the task of running off all nine of the sub-adult males who had formed a "sloth(cohesive group of bears)," two of whom were already north of 300 lbs, all were run off in a single week...
After years of restoration efforts, Columbia River Belt Line Railway #7, the "Skookum" was finally able to perform for a Trains Magazine photo charter in March of 2019. Seen here running in the Nehalem River Canyon with a demonstration log train, #7 shows off her rare 2-4-4-2 configuration in equally rare Oregon sun. This image was captured near Roy Creek Park in the hamlet of Mohler, Oregon.
Built by the Baldwin Locomotive Works in 1909 as their builder's number 33463, this unusual 2-4-4-2 articulated, compound Mallet was intended for the Little River Railroad in Townsend, TN as their number 126. Unfortunately, that railroad quickly determined that she was too long for the tight curves on their line and she was returned to Baldwin. In 1910, Baldwin managed to resell her to the Columbia River Belt Line Railway in Blind Slough, OR, where she was put to work as a logging engine. That railroad typically named their locomotives rather than number them, and this engine received the name "Skookum", which is apparently a Chinook term, meaning large, powerful or impressive. She served the Columbia River Belt Line from 1910 through 1920, before being sold to the Carlisle-Pennell Lumber Company, where she acquired the number 7. After a four-year stint there, she served 4 other railroads, including the Deep River Logging Company, where her long career came to a sudden end in 1955, when she rolled over with a string of empty log bunks. Since that line was in the process of shutting down, no attempt was made to recover her and she was left in place.
In 1956, she was acquired by a man named Charles Morrow, who removed her from her wreck site in pieces....and she's spent the next 60 years in pieces, owned by several individuals and moved several different places. In 2005, she was acquired by Chris Baldo, who had her moved to the Oregon Coast Scenic Railroad, with the goal of restoring her. It's been a long road. Some pieces had been damaged when she was removed from the wreck site, and some pieces had been lost. Over the past 13 years, a restoration team has slowly and methodically restored her major components and re-assembled her into the condition you see here. She appeared in public for the first time at a Lerro Productions Charter in October of 2018, but alas, she was unable to perform for the photographers, because she still had some technical issues, including valve timing, which had to be tweaked and adjusted. After an additional 6 months of adjustments, repairs and break-in runs, she did make it out for the first of 2 photo charters organized by Trains Magazine, but alas, she still has some issues. She broke her second eccentric rod less than a week before the charter, and after additional repairs, suffered 2 tender brass failures during the charter. Each time, the railroad crews rapidly repaired her and she missed relatively little time during the event. Unfortunately, during her trip home on the second day, she broke her 3rd eccentric rod. Although repairs were initiated to get her ready for a second Trains event, the root cause of the issue had apparently yet to be found.
Stockholm's Gamla Stan is almost custom built for portrait backgrounds - narrow alleyways with slight curves and high buildings helping to give an even light across wider spreads of backdrop than often afforded to the photographer.
Lars is a Stockholm native since 1938, and was able to fill me in on some of their stories. This one is Prästgatan, which features in a number of folk songs. He also noted the changes over his time here - sadly tinged with the same trends as so many places; one can't leave a door unlocked any more, for instance.
Picking his way through the dense crowds attracted to the city centre by the "Vattenfall World Triathlon Stockholm 2014", Lars had struck me both for his meditative, intelligent gaze and his angelic white glow. In the shadows of the alleyway I'd test shot for a background, I hoped he would offer enough contrast to claim centre stage, and have the presence to justify it! In the shot we used just the sunfire (gold/silver striped) reflector with a -2 stop pop of fill flash from an on camera softbox. Together, as the softbox is so high, I find you end up with a kind of guerrilla clam shell light set-up. It's maybe not the most masculine lighting set up, but I think it does a good job of giving lars and his chic blazer an even pop of highlight against the darker alleyway.
Often I would clone out the bokeh highlight behind him, but in this case it felt appropriate - a sort of "light bulb moment" look to it, in keeping with Lars' quick intelligence.
He's a psychotherapist, and we talked about his work. He also showed me a book he'd picked up that morning; Death Of A Hero. It discusses the role of men in the modern world, in the light of recent trends in popular culture. Man, Lar notes, now graces our screens generally as an oaf, as a sports obsessed, greedy, lager craving beast. That's not to say that the portrayal of women has ever been adequately fair, he explains, just that the recent trend is aggressively pushed and men are left confused, challenged and in danger of losing their identity in the face of the media onslaught. It was a very interesting angle on the world to have explained with Lars' methodical intelligence and understated passion.
It's worth noting that world class cyclists were whizzing past us, about three metres in front of Lars, as we shot this. How on earth he maintains his serenity and focus, I don't know!
Lars - Thank you so much for your time. I hope you caught up with the rest of your party and like your portrait. Tack!
This is portrait #65 of my 100 Strangers Project - check out the group page and get involved.
Finally, I'm now live on Facebook; www.facebook.com/Flatworldsedge
The Black-throated Blue Warbler (Setophaga caerulescens) is typically a bird of the deep forest, occupying spaces similar to Maleficent. In the spring and fall, however, these beautiful birds can often be seen out in gardens as they migrate north or south. Like Hooded Warblers, they will spend much of their time in the lower reaches of the forest, hunting insects in the understory. They are methodical hunters, combing every shrub in an area--and often ever branch of every shrub--before moving to the next.
"The problem is that we have to be highly organised, completely methodical, completely regulated, but at the same time we have to be totally crazed and completely mental. So it's keeping a balance between these two ways, that is very important" - George Passmore
Got around to scanning some film this evening. This is one of those shots that no scan will ever do justice to. The only way to appreciate its magic is to see it on a light table. It's simply stunning!
Excluding the visual delights of seeing a shot like this on a light table, I think what I love most about shooting film is that it slows me down. I see a lot of people buying the latest digital gear and just blasting away without any conscious thought about why they're shooting.For example, a lot of people shoot this kind of photo in Colorado during the autumn. I've done a lot of shots myself. This is the first one I'm truly satisfied with. And it was taken on a 1963 vintage TLR on expired (but frozen) film. But the slow, methodical workflow of shooting film made me really contemplate what I wanted and this is my reward.
Kodak E100VS on a YashicaMat LM
In the heart of the metropolis, where time ticks in sync with hurried footsteps, this monochrome symphony captures a fleeting moment of urban ballet. The blur of motion paints a picture of life in perpetual motion at the train station, a place where countless stories intersect and diverge. Above, the methodical pattern of lights watches over like a silent conductor, orchestrating the rhythm of comings and goings. Each figure, an anonymous dancer in this impromptu performance, is both everywhere and nowhere as they blend into the collective pulse. This snapshot is an ode to those transient seconds that weave the fabric of city life – ungraspable yet deeply felt.
Camera: Konica Hexar AF
Film: Ilford HP5+
Developer: Ars-Imago R9
AI-generated caption by Copilot
Once I used other lenses; once there was light. Now there's just 1:1 magnification and a slow methodical rocking motion, seeking focus, always seeking focus...
We're Here, dark & a little bit lost.
Tripod-mounted remote triggered shutter & strobe selfie with the 80mm leaf shutter, with a hand-held macro of a toy skull partly chopped & floated over the top. Sundry amends to both images over multiple layers.
WakaWaka Pelcomb Portraits.
The Green Herons are arriving back from Spring migration, and it's fun to watch them slowly and methodically seek out fish again!
The female Giant Ichneumon wasp, Megarhyssa marcurus is equipped with an ovipositor several times her own length. She uses this to which she drills into the side of diseased trees in order to lay an egg on the larva of another insect, the pigeon horntail (Tremex), which is a sawfly, a close relative of wasps, bees and ants. The horntail larva grows, and is fed upon by the ichneumon larva. The ovipositor is composed of a central delivery shaft which drills into the wood and through which the egg passes. There are another two outer sheaths that protect and stiffen the central “hypodermic needle”, these can be seen arcing away from the tip of the wasp’s tail. Before the drilling begins the wasp walks methodically up and down the tree, “feeling” with her antenna to sense the presence of the host horntail larva buried below the surface. Once a host larva has been detected she raises her tail and brings the ovipositor into position. At the beginning and end of the drilling process the last segments of the tail hinge open and a flexible membrane is inflated between them, (this is the white moon-shaped structure in the photo). This is used to manipulate the ovipositer as it enters and leaves the wood. The photo here is at the end of the laying process, the wasp is using her abdominal disc to withdraw the ovipositor from the wood.
(Egretta caerulea) - Little Blue Heron
A small, dark heron arrayed in moody blues and purples, the Little Blue Heron is a common but inconspicuous resident of marshes and estuaries in the Southeast. They stalk shallow waters for small fish and amphibians, adopting a quiet, methodical approach that can make these gorgeous herons surprisingly easy to overlook at first glance. Little Blue Herons build stick nests in trees alongside other colonial waterbirds. In the U.S., their populations have been in a gradual decline since the mid-twentieth century.
Read more at: www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Little_Blue_Heron/overview
Took this shot for some personal reasons, wanting to capture the random soft beauty of the beach, the waves, the sand and the blue skies in contrast to the methodical and precise beauty of the Conch Shell. Came to the beach for a few celebrations; this shell belonged to someone who was unable to make the trip.
Shot using a Canon EF-S10-18mm, f/4.5-5.6 IS STM lens, 17mm, f/11, 1/500sec mounted on a Canon 70D camera, handheld.
Comments and constructive feedback are always appreciated!
I like the render and woodwork.
I could not stand any further back due to fence and drop, so Even with just 24 mm lens, door just fits in. Church is quite tall. So this is taken with tilt shift lens, body vertically, lens shifted horizontally and at 30 ad 60 ' so 5 images merged. I had to clone in top right as missed that area. First attempt at shifting at 30 60' in addition to up down side; think useful to do this but need to be very methodical to work round the view.
We managed a stop at Addo, though sadly only a lunch stop. The 3 short hours we were there convinced me that I must stay there again one day, and make it a longer stay. This beautiful little sunbird appeared, working its way methodically along the line of shrubbery at the waterhole viewpoint where we were remembering our previous visit to Addo. I watched as it got closer and closer and ended up with this shot of it on the bush closest to me. Lovely!
As seen in "Rainbow of Nature Hall of Fame"
Hidden within the vegetation, this female Boat-tailed Grackle methodically tore off pieces of flesh as she hungrily consumed her meal. While her prey no longer resembled a frog, if you look closely the tiny discs of the frog's spinal cord are visible.
Location: Wakodahatchee Wetlands, Florida, United States of America
Mi buen amigo Jose Ignacio y yo estamos embarcados en una estrambótica competición para dilucidar quién de los dos vive la experiencia fotográfica más disparatada y desoladora. Cuando vamos juntos, lo habitual es que las más variopintas calamidades se alíen para arruinar un día de trenes que en principio parecía alentador. Y en solitario acumulamos un sinfín de infortunios que podrían descorazonar al más estoico y flemático de los aficionados ferroviarios. Hace unas pocas semanas mi querido colega puso el listón muy alto, a un nivel prácticamente inalcanzable para cualquier mortal. Gran amante de El Directo, José Ignacio se desplazó desde San Sebastián hasta Lerma con la intención de fotografiar el bobinero de Captrain en su retorno a Bilbao. Hombre metódico y precavido, ya estaba perfectamente situado media hora antes del paso del único tren que iba a circular ante su cámara en toda la mañana. Lo que no sabía mi desafortunado amigo es que el tren ya había pasado por Lerma quince minutos antes de su llegada porque había partido de Aranda mucho antes de lo habitual. Pero él desconocía ese crucial detalle y como el hombre con una moral granítica que es, allí se quedó esperando durante cuatro horas sin más compañía que la de un sol implacable martirizándolo sin piedad. Y no fue la reciedumbre del verano burgalés la que lo desalojó de su malhadada atalaya sino una imponente tormenta de granizo que se formó en un abrir y cerrar de ojos. Más rápido que el rayo, encontró refugio en su coche y huyó despavorido de la endemoniada Lerma. Cuando ya se creía a salvo, se detuvo en Grisaleña por si los dioses se apiadaban de él y le obsequiaban con la aparición de un mercante gracias al cual no volvería a casa de vacío. Pero no. La tormenta había seguido su rastro y cuando lo encontró le golpeó de nuevo con virulencia y con saña. No quedaba otra que volver a San Sebastián con el sabor de la derrota en el paladar y siendo consciente de que había conducido 500 kilómetros para nada.
Semejante infortunio es prácticamente imposible de superar pero el viernes pasado estuve a punto de hacerlo. Por Bilbao tenemos estos días al Tramesa circulando con una rutilante Bitrac con los colores de Captrain y ese es motivo más que suficiente para salir a la vía en estos tiempos tan aciagos para el aficionado. Así que me acerqué hasta este punto situado en Orduña que gracias a una reciente siega ha mejorado mucho, aunque ahora hay un árbol que ha crecido tanto que no te permite ganar altura. Una foto fácil, sencilla y muy cerca de casa. Un plan genial.....Pues no. El tren se retrasaba más de la cuenta y ya me temía que estaría averiado no muy lejos de Orduña porque lo habían visto pasar por Amurrio con normalidad. Cuando menos me lo esperaba (y con más de media hora de retraso) apareció a lo lejos desplazándose como una tortuga hasta que se detuvo a unos doscientos metros de mi posición. Yo dudaba entre moverme para fotografiarlo donde se había detenido o quedarme donde estaba por si arrancaba de repente. Estuve dándole vueltas a la situación durante cinco interminables minutos hasta que el tren hizo lo más inesperado y catastrófico: retroceder hasta la estación de Orduña. La cara de tonto que se te queda en ese momento es indescriptible pero, al menos, la mascarilla tiene la ventaja de ocultar tus emociones y parecer lo que no eres: un hombre hierático. ¿Qué hacer en un momento como ese? ¿Esperar? ¿Ir a la estación de Orduña? ¿Volver a casa? Tras darle muchas vueltas, decidí acercarme a la estación de Orduña donde la foto que se le podía hacer al tren era espantosa pero donde al menos pude contactar con el simpático maquinista gracias al cual supe que la máquina tenía un problema técnico y que la parada iba a ser muy larga. Intenté hacer alguna foto decente del tren pero con muy poca fortuna y cuando me iba a marchar para casa el maquinista me avisó de que partiría hacia Aranda en diez minutos. Salí disparado al punto elegido para fotografiarlo y casi me vuelvo loco de alegría cuando apareció 90 minutos más tarde de su teórica hora de circulación. Suerte de mascarilla, porque la cara de bobo que puse al verlo tampoco debió ser la más indicada como para usarla de foto de perfil en Tinder.
Final feliz, sí, nada que ver con lo que sufrió mi amigo José Ignacio. Pero recordad que esta iba a ser una foto fácil. Por cierto, el tren volvió a averiarse en Lezama, pero esa es otra historia.
My good friend Jose Ignacio and I are engaged in a bizarre competition to figure out who of us is having the most crazy and daunting photographic experience. When we go together, it is usual for the most varied calamities to join forces to ruin a train day that at first seemed encouraging. And alone we accumulate endless misfortunes that could discourage even the most stoic and phlegmatic of railway fans. A few weeks ago my dear colleague set the bar very high, to a level practically unattainable for any mortal. A great lover of El Directo, José Ignacio traveled from San Sebastián to Lerma with the intention of photographing the Captrain steel freight on its return to Bilbao. A methodical and cautious man, he was already perfectly situated half an hour before the passage of the only train that was going to circulate in front of his camera all morning. What my unfortunate friend did not know is that the train had already passed through Lerma fifteen minutes before his arrival because it had left Aranda much earlier than usual. But he was unaware of that crucial detail and, like the man with a granite morality that he is, he waited there for four hours with no company other than that of an implacable sun beating him mercilessly. And it was not the harshness of the Burgos summer that dislodged him from his ill-fated vantage point but rather an imposing hail storm that formed in the blink of an eye. Faster than lightning, he found refuge in his car and fled in terror from the demonized Lerma. When he thought he was safe, he stopped in Grisaleña in case the gods took pity on him and presented him with the appearance of a freight thanks to which he would not return home empty. But no. The storm had followed his trail and when it found him it struck him again with virulence and viciousness. There was no choice but to return to San Sebastián with the taste of defeat on the palate and being aware that he had driven 500 kilometers for nothing.
Such misfortune is practically impossible to overcome but last Friday I was on the verge of doing it. Through Bilbao these days we have this Tramesa freight circulating with a glittering Bitrac in Captrain colors and that is more than enough reason to hit the road in these unfortunate times for fans. So I approached this point located in Orduña, which thanks to a recent harvest has improved a lot, although now there is a tree that has grown so much that it does not allow you to gain height. An easy, simple photo and very close to home. A great plan ..... Well no. The train was delayed more than necessary and I was already afraid that it would be damaged not far from Orduña because a friend had seen it pass through Amurrio normally. When I least expected it (and with more than half an hour late) it appeared in the distance moving like a turtle until it stopped about two hundred meters from my position. I was hesitant between moving to photograph it where it had stopped or staying where it was in case it suddenly started. I was thinking about the situation for five interminable minutes until the train did the most unexpected and catastrophic thing: back to Orduña station. The silly face that you have at that moment is indescribable but, at least, the mask has the advantage of hiding your emotions and appearing what you are not: a hieratic man. What to do at a time like that? Wait? Go to Orduña station? Back home? After thinking about it many times, I decided to go to the Orduña station where the photo that could be taken of the train was terrible but where at least I was able to contact the friendly engineer thanks to whom I learned that the machine had a technical problem and that the stop was going to be very long. I tried to take a decent photo of the train but with very little luck and when I was leaving for home the driver told me that he would leave for Aranda in ten minutes. I shot out to the spot chosen to photograph it and almost went crazy with joy when it appeared 90 minutes later than its theoretical hour of circulation. Lucky mask, because the goofy face I made when I saw it shouldn't have been the most suitable to use as a profile picture on Tinder either.
Happy ending, yes, nothing to do with what my friend José Ignacio suffered. But remember this was going to be an easy photo. By the way, the train broke down again in Lezama, but that's another story.
Although he can still be a jerk at times to the cubbies Amari is really loving being a big brother and I often see him grooming them.
This was taken a month ago and I can't believe how much the cubs and Amari has changed in that time.
I am really methodical in my editing. I upload and put into folders of the date they were taken and then work my way through the album editing. As you can see i am a little behind with my editing......
ps......gotta love a little (lot) of lens flare ;)
Seldom seen at eye-level, this cuckoo was just off the boardwalk in the understory; methodically picking off caterpillars. Magee.
This 400 lb sow is named for an ancient Celtic warrior queen who became famous for taking it to the Roman empire. Our latter day Boudica methodically ran off nine male sub-adults over the course of an afternoon, several of whom were already north of 300 lbs. Boudica is pure North American bad ass...
The rhyme has roots in English folklore that may date back to the time of Shakespeare and beyond. It's the story of the sad little boy who neglects his duties as a Hayward, hiding and sleeping under the haystack, rather than tending the flock. The first printed version of the song has been dated to 1744. In an interesting parity, the Little Blue Heron, makes up for moody blue emotion with a rich, moody blue and purple plumage. Like our little boy, this small heron tends to be fairly inconspicuous, despite being fairly common. When hunting it tends to be very quiet, slow, and methodical, unlike it's egret relatives that tend to dash about. Juveniles actually sport white plumage their first year and are easily confused with these egrets. Their inconspicuous behavior and slow methodical methods of hunting help to distinguish them from these companion birds. Their white first year plumage may actually increase their survival rates while living amongst egrets, since, there is always safety in numbers. So when searching the marshes and wetlands, look for our little blue friend who may be so inconspicuously still as to be easily missed. #iLoveNature #iLoveWildlife #WildlifePhotography in #Florida #Nature in #NorthAmerica #LittleBlueHeron #LittleBoyBlue #DrDADBooks #Canon #WildlifeConservation
These men are graceful and methodical in their movements as they apply a new roof to this church. It is a joy to watch them.
Our Daily Challenge: I LOVE TO WATCH
I found a dozen of these tiny songbirds flitting about a tree at the Palmyra Cove Nature Park in Southern, NJ. They were feeding on small insects in the bark of the tree. I was slowly and methodically able to approach very close, and eventually ended up within about 6 feet of the action. These birds are so small, maybe 3-4 inches tops, and so frenetic, out of the 100 shots I popped off, only 2 met my standards. This is one of them. View large for best experience.
It is Monday...enjoy the week~!
The massive stacker-reclaimer project is leaving Victoria’s Point Hope Shipyard and boarding the Dynamic Beast floating barge and crane.
“It’s like watching paint dry. We’ve been at this since eight in the morning. Very slow methodical, well thought out and safe,” said David Bukovec, who is the general manager for the project from United Engineering Ltd.
N.B. Will leave Victoria Harbour for Neptune Terminals, North Vancouver, BC Saturday (no time specified).
I watched this Tufted Titmouse methodically pick out the peanuts in the mix, one by one.
That little Finch looks like she's worried what that piggy Titmouse was going to grab once all the peanuts were gone. LOL!
She is so different from Nixon, very methodically licks the doggie ice cream over and over until the last drop is gone. Thanks to Boxercab for the homemade recipe they get these more often now.
Guido Reni (Bologna, November 4, 1575 - Bologna, August 18, 1642) - Ariadne (1639-1640),- Oil on canvas 220 x 150 cm- Galleria Nazionale, Bologna
Si tratta dell'unico grande frammento conosciuto delle 'Nozze di Bacco e Arianna' che Guido Reni dipinse negli anni 1638- 1640 su commissione del Cardinale Barberini, ma destinato a Henrietta Maria di Borbone moglie del re d'Inghilterra Carlo I Stuart .
Il dipinto, eseguito a Bologna, fu inviato a Roma per la spedizione alla regina, ma i drammatici fatti politici che precedettero decapitazione di Carlo I ne impedirono l'invio in Inghilterra.
Nel 1647 finalmente la grande tela giunse a destinazione presso Henrietta, che la vendette un anno dopo per sanare i propri debiti.
Entrata nella raccolta di Michel Particelli d'Hemery, alla sua morte secondo autorevoli fonti dell'epoca, venne fatta ridurre in pezzi dalla vedova scandalizzata dalla presenza di figure nude.
La figura di Arianna risulta scontornata con una precisione inconsueta per una 'distruzione', è quindi probabile che il dipinto sia stato invece scomposto con metodo per essere poi più facilmente venduto.
This is the only known large fragment of the 'Marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne' that Guido Reni painted in the years 1638- 1640 commissioned by Cardinal Barberini, but intended for Henrietta Maria di Borbone wife of the King of England Charles I Stuart .
The painting, executed in Bologna, was sent to Rome for shipment to the queen, but the dramatic political events that preceded Charles I's beheading prevented it from being sent to England.
In 1647 the large canvas finally reached its destination at Henrietta's, who sold it a year later to clear her debts.
It entered the collection of Michel Particelli d'Hemery, and upon his death, according to authoritative sources of the time, it was had the widow, scandalized by the presence of nude figures, cut it to pieces.
The figure of Ariadne appears to have been contoured with unusual precision for a 'destruction,' so it is likely that the painting was instead methodically broken down to be more easily sold later.