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…and I bring you FIRE!
For all of a certain ripe old age, you may recognise the title of this image as a reference to the hit single “Fire” from the Crazy World of Arthur Brown. I met them on Ryde seafront in 1968 when they were visiting the Isle of Wight to appear at the first IOW Pop Festival. Even at a distance Arthur was striking and very tall (I was 6 foot and he looked down at me like I was a Hobbit). Arthur and a couple of the chaps from his band were wandering along the promenade in their velvet jackets, flares, and cuban heel boots, and I somehow felt the need to go up and say hello. After the hello I was a bit stumped, so asked him for an autograph. I had neither paper, nor pen, so Arthur dug around in his pockets, found a scrap of paper and a pen, and proceeded to do a drawing on it, of an eye and pyramid. He explained to me that this was the “All Seeing Eye” that would watch over me. I think his chaps were a bit bored as they started swaying, I guess the lot of them had been smoking something that you don’t buy in a tobacconist. Subsequent house moves, have unfortunately resulted in me losing that scrap of paper, but the memory is still there.
…and for those of you from a younger generation here is Arthur Brown doing his thing: www.youtube.com/watch?v=en1uwIzI3SE
This is a reprocess of an image I captured a couple of years ago at sunrise when the Petersfield Lake had iced over. This time I have kept the spectacular colours exactly as they are in the Raw file, rather than desaturating them as I did last time, which was a mistake that needed rectifying.
*
Dizia
que viajar é poder partir-se para o lugar
em frente,
que cada lugar só impressiona porque sugere
a visibilidade do próximo.
E que no fim, quando abandonamos tudo
e já não ouvimos senão o repique dos sinos,
as paisagens deixam de existir para não
passar do que a respiração liberta.
“O que nos conduz é podermos sepultar o
corpo noutro lugar;
porque em todos os sítios passados deixámos o corpo
à vista do lugar mais próximo.”
Percebi, sem que mostrasse algum temor,
que havia descoberto a transparência do mundo,
que fora auxiliado pela face
suspensa dos viajantes.
E lembrei-me como o tempo havia de ensinar,
desde a juventude à velhice,
que onde a beleza assola habituamo-nos a uma pausa nos
olhos, nas mãos e nos olhos que são o que nos diz do
pouco do que nos fica sempre.
© 2000, Rui Coias
From: A Função do Geógrafo
Publisher: Quasi Edições, Vila Nova de Famalicão, 2000
ISBN: 972-8632-00-2
________
He said
traveling is being able to depart for the place
up ahead,
each place impressing us only because it suggests
the next one that will come into view.
And in the end, when we let go of everything
and hear nothing but the bells’ tolling,
the landscapes cease to exist, being no more
than our breathing set free.
“What impels us is our being able to bury
the body in another place,
since everywhere we’ve been we left our body
within sight of the place just beyond.”
I understood that, without showing any fear,
he’d discovered the world’s transparency,
he’d been helped by the hovering
faces of travelers.
And I remembered how time teaches us,
from early youth to old age,
to allow a pause in our eyes whenever beauty overwhelms,
a pause in our hands and eyes which are what tell us
the small part of us that always remains.
© Translation: 2006, Richard Zenith
It’s official. I’m now convinced in my old age I’m becoming more sensible, at least when it comes down to my safe being. My day started dry but by the time I’d drove up to Glen Nevis the heavy mist had changed to persistent rain. I parked at the top of Glen Nevis road and set off on the popular walk to the waterfall intending to make it up from there. I’d headed to the Glen because of nice population of Scots pines hoping I would find nice subjects for photography. This I did but as the walked to the waterfall from the carpark on the north side of the Nevis waters I saw that much of the interest was on the south. My walk on the north side had interest but petered out on reaching the waterfall and route back along the south side was only enabled by a steel rope crossing which from my observation ended with a wet sloping rock on the other side. When I say rope bridge I mean 3 ropes, that’s two hand holds and a single rope to walk along. Ten years ago I would not have hesitated and crossed, but today common sense (and age) got the better of me. I still intended to visit those trees on the south side but a 2.5 mile walk back to Paddy’s bridge was required passing my parked car on the way. Here is one of those interesting pines up on the slopes of the south side, the snow capped top in the distance is the Ben itself.
Old age cherry tree in bloom, Besana Brianza, Lombardy, Italy
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Explore: #241
13-04-2017
Something simple, but perhaps not so.....
Clara said "I hope I don't look like that!"
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A must for lightbox please.
Thank you
Flickr Explore #145
Storks are large, long-legged, long-necked wading birds with long stout bills, belonging to the family Ciconiidae. They occur in most of the warmer regions of the world and tend to live in drier habitats than the related herons, spoonbills and ibises; they also lack the powder down that those groups use to clean off fish slime. Storks have no syrinx (sound-producing vocal organ) and are mute, giving no bird call; bill-clattering is an important mode of stork communication at the nest. Many species are migratory. Most storks eat frogs, fish, insects, earthworms, and small birds or mammals. There are 19 species of storks in six genera.
Stork Lore
The fable that babies are brought by storks is mainly from Dutch and Northern German nursery stories, no doubt from the notion that storks nesting on one's roof meant good luck, often in the form of family happiness.
In some countries, it was believed that placing sweets in the window was a way to let the storks know that the family in the home was ready for a baby.
In ancient Greece, there was a law that demanded children take care of their parents in old age. The law was called “Pelargonia,” which is derived from the Greek word for storks—“pelargos.” Storks tend to care for their young long past when the young are able to fly and fend for themselves, which led to the belief that the young were looking after the old instead. It is yet another way in which storks and children are connected.
Seen as a symbol of good luck, storks had a tendency to nest on people’s roofs and chimneys and it was believed that storks on the roof would result in children for the couple living in the home.
March, the month in which many midsummer babies were born, was once considered a lucky time of the year to give birth.
Storks have a high tolerance for the presence of human beings and are not easily frightened by us.
I am also on 500px! Not so active yet ... so not a lot of contacts so drop me a line if you have an account over there ^^
please enlarge photo to see more detail.. i hate the crop here on Flickr grrr
In my youth I walked those hills. & could name them by heart. I’ll have to look them up now, old age doesn’t come alone. The update - From right to left, Beinn an Dothaidh (1004m), Beinn Achaladair (1038m) & Beinn a’Chreachain (1081m). Together with Ben Dorian (hidden behind Beinn an Dothaidh) these make a fine, long day’s traverse best done with 2 cars and necessitates crossing the West Highland railway line on the longish walk out (or in depending on where you start.
Not that I am counting but as of today, I have less than 30 days until I hit the 78 year mark. Nothing special about that other than I am still kickin' and am particularly happy about that. Like the title of the movie goes, "Heaven Can Wait".
But in view of the shadow of time I have left, I find I tend to make decisions differently now than I did even 10 years ago.
For instance, it's not a positive selling point when a salesperson says to me that something will last 10-20 years, like I don't care. I'm more interested in the short term.
So, when I survey my sparse array of camera equipment, I ask myself if buying anything new now is worth it.
However, sometimes 'want' outweighs measured decisions.
But when I see photos like this eagle flying overhead from my ancient Nikon D500, little doubts creep into my mind that maybe, just maybe, I won't be able to improve much with a newer and more expensive camera.
Probably have to call an executive meeting in our kitchen to discuss it.
(Photographed near Ogilvie, MN)
In our part of Minnesota, we have had a spectacular spring and early summer. Getting up early and driving in the countryside before the sun rises provides scenes like this: a buck slowly making its way through a tunnel of nature toward a clearing.
Spotting a buck with this much of a rack is probably a good sign for those who will be hunting in the fall, but not necessarily for this fellow.
Sometimes in life, it is not an advantage to be tall, handsome, and a stand-out in a crowd. Well, at least that is what I tell my wife when I complain about how hard my life is. She often replies that a sure sign of old age is the inability to distinguish between reality and fantasy.
Speaking of life, at my age, certain phrases take on added meaning, such as 'walking toward the light.'
(Photographed near Cambridge, MN)
"Basil", the over 20 years old male Plumed Basilisk (Basiliscus plumifrons) of the Botanical Garden of the University of Basel on discovery tour.
● Addendum: Basil died of his old age on the night of January 19, 2024. 💚
-------------------------------------------- "Basil", die über 20 Jahre alte männliche Basilisken-Echse (Basiliscus plumifrons) des Botanischen Gartens der Universität Basel, auf Entdeckungstour.
● Nachtrag: Basil starb in der Nacht vom 19. Januar 2024 an Altersschwäche. 💚
© Leanne Boulton, All Rights Reserved
Candid street photography from Glasgow, Scotland. I just loved capturing the interaction here. Enjoy.
After packing my camera away, I was forced to unpack it when I looked out and saw this superb Mount Fuji sunset. These days I count my blessings, and this was one of them. It doesn't take a lot to make me happy in my old age. This is what I came to see, and it was right there and visible from my balcony.
Everyone tells you your age is just a number, and I can completely agree with that- because I am more healthy today than I was ten years ago. I also like the way Victor put it… I'm at the bottom of my age category lol!
Theme: Power In Words
Year Fifteen Of My 365 Project
"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them."
For the Fallen - Laurence Binyon
Our grandkids in Santa Barbara had to say goodby to their cat Melo who lived to a ripe old age - craving affection and finding bags to sit in. Here he is sharing a bag with one of my sandals.
I loved this house the moment I spotted it. I don't know what it is, but it just captivated me.
EXPLORE, highest position #23, November 17, 2012
Thank you everyone!
The beautiful interior of Sydney's Anzac Memorial, The Hall of Memory, creates a solemn space of remembrance for those lost in war. Nearby in the Hall of Silence a fallen warrior lies dead upon his shield. www.flickr.com/photos/luminosity7/52843875085/in/album-72...
For the Fallen by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)
This was first published on September 21, 1914 as news spread of the terrible losses already experienced on the Western Front in France. Less than a year later on April 25, 1915, Australian and New Zealand forces landed on the beaches of Gallipoli in Turkey in what was to be a prolonged and fruitless military exercise.
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children
England mourns for her dead across the sea,
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow,
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again,
They sit no more at familiar tables of home,
They have no lot in our labour of the daytime,
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires and hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the night.
As the stars shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
The fourth stanza is known as The Ode and is recited every Anzac Day in Australia and New Zealand.
Candid street shot taken in the city of Bath. I witnessed this lady hobble painfully past me. This shot wasn't taken to mock, if anything it's a "reflected" self portrait as I age and go downhill myself. Although nowhere near this lady's age, I am REALLY starting to feel it, and it's slapping me in the face that getting old sucks even more than I assumed it would.
I was going to clone out the "Plumbing and Heating" sign to add to the background bleakness but then I realised it adds to the story. I fully realise the pun in the "plumbing" too when it comes to ladies after the menopause.