So I took my guitar And I threw down some chords And some words I could sing without shame And I soon had a song I played it around For some friends but they all said the same They said music’s for fools You should go back to school The future is prisons and math […]
‘the time has come to say fair’s fair
to pay the rent, to pay our share
the time has come, a fact’s a fact
it belongs to them, let’s give it back’lyrics – midnight oil, beds are burning
As at 16:00 on Friday, 25 October 2019 the right of the public to clamber over this place came to an end in recognition of the reverence in which it is held by the indigenous people of Anangu.
Australia retains a firm hold on a part of me, her spirit locked down tight, forever, deep inside.
It is impossible to be indifferent concerning this continent of colour, contrast and contradiction. Much of this beautiful, desolate land remains unexplored by many who live there.
Perhaps one of the last places on earth that holds tight some of its oldest stories.
As a Deputy Secretary in the Australian Government, I was privileged to travel across this wide brown land, exploring places almost as far away from our urban environment as it is possible to be.
Maybe I will write more about that.
Uluru is not a rock.
It is an irrepressible force of nature.
A powerful psychic force that ensnares you from the moment you first see it whether from the air or up close and personal. There is a visceral thrumming in the air. A song from the past that captures your mind, your body, your soul.
Away from the inevitable tourist traps there is no sound. Only the whispers of the ancestors.
I am happy that this place has been given back to those whispering souls.
There are too few places left in the world that move us and re-connect us to our roots, to the essence of our humanity.
Imagine also, how much a boy from the Rossendale valley felt blessed when sharing a flight and snatched conversation with Peter Garret, lead singer with Midnight Oil, and then Minister for the Environment, Heritage and the Arts.
How do we sleep when our beds are burning?
It starts by smelling the smoke and doing something about it.
No?
Images made in November 2009 with Nikon D70 and Nikkor 18-70mm f/3.5-4.5 DX lens
Every man’s life ends the same way.
It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another
– Ernest Hemingway
With thanks to Felix and Mamen, and our fellow guests, for a beautiful evening full of light, good food, wine and for the opportunity to photographs the bulls on a glorious late summer evening.
Gracias a Felix y Mamen, y a nuestros compañeros invitados, por una hermosa noche llena de luz, buena comida, vino y por la oportunidad de fotografiar a los toros en una gloriosa tarde de verano.
*All images made with Nikon D700 with Nikkor 200-500mm f/5.6 lens*
isla de soto…
our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty”
― albert einstein
misty ambiguity
twist
reedy
exhausted
haven
hoopoe, youpoe, weallpoe
crossed
fallen
if you’ve got it, flaunt it
nesting
setting goals
black redstart
bs
who am i?
i’ll be there as soon as I can
but I’m busy mending broken
pieces of the life I had before
in a tight corner
do they toll for thee?
they also serve who only perch and wait
bound and confined
reach for the sky
will you still love me?
fleeting romance
stacked
haunted
*all images made with nikon d700 with nikkor 200-500mm f/5.6 and 50mm f/1.4 lenses, developed in lightroom cc*
only the sunset knows my blind desire for the fleeting
only the moon understands the beauty of love
when held by a hand like the aura of nostalgia
Inspirado en parte por la españa vacía, el libro escrito por sergio del molino
cerrada
mordaz
vacía
retorcido
camino
bloqueado
ironía
mordido
presionado
acerbo
después
abatimiento
refugio
desolado
centinela
*imágenes realizadas con olympus om10, objetivo de 135mm f/3.5, película de blanco y negro de ilford, sin editar*
a tale of wine, hornazo and ‘oars’ on lunes de agua on salamancastreets
I wonder, would it be true and fair to describe Spain as the home of ‘fiestas’?
Each town, each community, often has more than one day set aside each year to celebrate one thing, or another.
Perhaps none has a celebration quite as distinctive as that held in Salamanca each year. Hot on the heels of the solemn processions and religous observance over Easter comes Lunes de Agua.
Literally ‘water Monday’, the (half) day fiesta which begins in the middle of the afternoon, on the Monday which follows Easter Monday, brings everyone in the family (young and old) together to celebrate the day on which, by long-standing tradition (dating back to the reign of Felipe II) the prostitutes of this ancient University city, banished during Semana Santa from its beautiful streets and plazas, were repatriated (with pomp and circumstance) from the far side of the river Tormes by boat. The…
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A post on salamancastreets featuring a close encounter with a frisky bull and a less than adequate fence, (two) group(s) of brightly clad bikers, a couple of donkeys, some bees and some very friendly locals in a bar in Peñacaballera.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
– The Road not taken, Robert Frost
An expedition along the Ruta de la Plata which traces the path of a still visible Roman road known as the Via de la plata.
Along the road which winds its way from Mérida to Astorga, we had a close encounter with a frisky bull and a less than adequate fence, (two) group(s) of brightly clad bikers, a couple of donkeys, some bees and some very friendly locals in a bar in Peñacaballera.
The incident with the bull involved a degree of clear, present and imminent danger and I felt stopping to take a portrait shot would perhaps have been inadvisable. The bull which features below was…
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bajo el puente
bajo el puente
— Read on salamancastreets.com/2019/03/19/bajo-el-puente/
