#so I was a little bit obsessed with the grove to the north and how they looked with the arches in the east framing them

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Forspoken Photo Dump 11: Praenost, Guardian's Way

[moobell55]

A Lifetime Of Flowers Part I

~Jacks once told Evangeline he'd never be the man to give her flowers, here's all the times he did~Contains lots of fluff with a tad bit of angst, not a whole lot though, this will be multiple parts~

The Prince Of Hearts was never up this early in the morning, the sun had barely risen. But yet Jacks tore himself from the comfort of his warm bed, careful not to wake the sleeping women next to him.

He folded the covers over her, careful not to disturb her rest but wanting to make sure she stayed warm. He was forever enchanted by his wife, she was the most divine creature he'd ever seen. Every inch of her was perfect, her hair, face, eyes, her soul and the small freckles that covered the bridge of her nose. He'd spent every night they'd been married kissing those freckles, and he knew he'd do it for the rest of their days.

As he tucked her back in he couldn't resist placing a kiss on her forehead; only pulling away so he wouldn't wake the slumbering beauty. He would've happily stayed in this bed with her forever. Content with holding her and simply existing in her presence for the rest of their lives.

But today Jacks was on a journey.

Quickly donning his black fur lined cape, and quickly laced up his leather ice boots. Making extra care not to make a noise as he made his way to the door. He took one last peak at his slumbering bride before making the way to The Hollows exit.

The last moments of Winter had been dying away all week, welcoming the wetness and new life of Spring.

Spring reminded him of Evangeline the most, as the coldness of winter melted away and it was met with new life. The hope and beauty returning after being frozen for so long, just like Jacks's own heart.

Years ago he never could've imagined his heart would beat and his skin would lose its frigidness. But as his Little Fox melted through his icy walls, she also melted through the iciness of his heart, and now his heart only beats for his One True Love.

It made sense his Wife was born in the beginning of the North's Spring. When the flowers began to bud and bloom, when the coldness of the North slipped away at last.

The woods around their home were alive even early in the morning. Birds sang overhead, Chipmunks ran through the budding trees, the river ran full, the Earth smelled anew.

He made his away over the small bridge, to a grove hidden by the dense Blackberry bushes that had taken over this part of the forest in the centuries Jacks had been gone.

Paying no mind as the vines snagged onto his clothes, he made his way to a small glen.

Jacks had found what he was looking for at last.

Wildflowers covered the glen, they had bloomed over the past two days. Jacks knew as he'd been sneaking out every night to make sure they'd be perfect for her.

Yellows, whites, pinks and all sorts of soft colors covered the ground. Seemingly waiting to be picked for his wife, as if they knew how important today was.

Making his way to the flowers he knelt down and removed his knife from his boot. A habit Evangeline would fun of him for, but Jacks knew better than to venture into the woods without protection.

He carefully grabbed the stem of a vibrant Winter Aconite, the warm yellow contrast to the silver of his knife. Carefully he harvested the Aconites, before wrapping a smooth ribbon around the stems.

The Pinks and soft reds of the Camellias caught his attention next. The red reminds him of the blush that would form on his Love's cheeks and the pinks for the beautiful color of her hair he'd always been obsessed with.

He gathered a dozen of these, then carefully added them to the growing bouquet of wildflowers.

Jacks didn't have a favorite flower, and neither did Evangeline. He simply did not care for flowers, but his sweet Evangeline loved them. She couldn't choose a favorite as she found beauty in all of them, even the ones that never fully bloomed.

In a rocky area of the glen grew a patch of Snow Glory's, the blue and white star shaped flowers had water droplets collecting on their soft petals. The blues reminded him of her eyes, the soft blue grey of her eyes was so like his silver eyes. But hers held much more joy and love than his ever could.

His bundle of flowers was growing bigger, over two dozen flowers were confined in the ribbon clearly struggling to keep its hold on the flowers.

The sun was rising higher into the sky as he left the glen, chasing away the remainder of the stars from the darkness. Evangeline would awaken soon, and worry about why her husband wasn't in bed with him.

She always awoke after he did, something he'd tease her about. She simply tells him that she'd been comfortable, and she'd spent every moment of her sleep "dreaming of being with him." How could a man ever take offense to that?

In truth he loved watching her sleep, she smiled while she dreamed, and clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her in this world. In reality it was her that kept him in this world.

The Hollow was in sight as a loud barking noise stole him from his thoughts.

A White Spectral Fox was dashing towards him, the creature un-frightened by the tall man. This Fox knew him, or knew his wife quite well.

Princess Fluffikins was the fox that had taken a shine to him months ago at Evangeline's first wedding. Jacks hadn't cared for the creature but Evangeline was extremely fond of it; it made sense that she had found her way to the vast forests surrounding their home.

The Fox bound up to him before circling him, seeming interested in the flowers Jacks held. The Prince rolled his eyes at the Fox before, quickly and carefully running a hand across her white fur.

Jacks would never admit that he cared for Fluffikins, but he'd slowly grown to care for the spectral fox. The Fox let out a happy bark and began to follow him closer to The Hollows door.

Looking down at the spectated fox, he wondered if she wanted to follow him inside or she was simply looking for Evangeline.

"I know you miss her Fluffikins, but she's inside resting. It's a very important day but if you're still here later I'll make sure she says hello."

Jacks would've never thought he'd be having a conversation with a woodland creature, but he was a lot of things now he'd never thought he'd be.

Fluffikins simply blinked up at him with those beady black eyes before running off towards the river.

Jacks gave a quick chuckle before entering The Hollow, the warm air pleasantly warming his body. Making his way into the kitchen he quickly retrieved the light pink vase he'd bought days earlier. Adding water to the vase he carefully added the variety of flowers and drew his knife to cut the ribbon.

Quietly he made his way through the decorated corridors of their home, the vase carefully resting in his arms. He stood in front of their bedroom door, hand carved with a fox with a heart circling it. He'd carved it for her shortly after they married.

Slowly opening the door he was met with the sight of his wife sitting on her side of the bed, having just woken up and still in the grasp of sleep.

Evangeline blinked sleepily at him, "Good morning my Love." She took notice of the flowers, "Are those for me?"

He smiled softly, taking in the mess of her curls, her disarrayed nightdress, and the hold of sleep still visible on her face.

This was love. Nothing but love for her, the lady and Queen of his Heart.

"Of course my Love," he placed a kiss against her lips quickly, "The most beautiful flowers for the beautiful Queen of my Heart on her birthday."

Finish

Notes: Not sure how many parts I'll be doing for this but I have at least one more in mind.

Living in a colder area, we do have some flowers that bloom more in the Winter but most bloom early Spring, but I actually grow all the flowers I listed including the Blackberries.

I would love to hear any thoughts and opinions in the comments below and would love to hear your favorites flowers. :)

[bryonysimcox]

A Return to Valencia: Week 18, Spain

A new chapter of our journey begins as this week we made our way south to Valencia. Continued lockdown has stirred up a sense of loneliness, but a change of scene and gradual de-escalation is lifting our spirits.

This week we left Catalonia. When the ‘Estado de Alarma’ was first announced, we were mid-way through filming a number of projects in Valencia. You may recall we ended up stranded in a marina car park, and the confines of living in a car park in a van drove us to seek refuge up north. But we’d always felt that we had unfinished business with Valencia - George and I had grown to love the city, and were fired up about the documentary we were making there. So we said that as and when we could, we would return.

Ten weeks later (!!) and we decided it was time to take the plunge and drive down south again. And so, with the generous offer of a friend’s apartment to stay at in the Valencian village of Corbera, we headed down along Spain’s eastern coast.

Driving south was somewhat risky given that crossing regional borders is still closely monitored.

Although armed with all the correct documentation, as we drove further south I was definitely nervous about crossing the border. There aren’t usually official checks between regions in Spain, but I didn’t know what to expect given the current pandemic. Despite the nerves, it was lovely to be in the van once again and have the partial sense of travelling and moving forwards. The sense that we aren’t going anywhere or progressing has been one of the biggest challenges recently, so as we trundled along the (relatively quiet) motorway I got a little hit of that travelling feeling.

(images, left to right) Leaving the vineyards of Palamos, George prepping for the long drive south, and golden hour on the road.

As I followed the blue dot tracing our movement on Google Maps, I could see that we were approaching the border between the two regions: Catalonia and the Comunitat Valenciana. We mounted the crest of the hill, and then spotted a cluster of police cars with police officers stopping and checking vehicles! This got my heart racing, and I could already feel the apprehension of having to explain our movement, not least in a different language. We had proof that we had work in Valencia, our official documents and friends’ phone numbers should they need them, but just the sight of armed officers made me quiver. Guns really are something us Brits forget about.

And yet, as we slowed to a crawl and almost rolled the window down, making clear eye contact with the officers, it became clear that they were only interested in checking traffic in the opposite direction! And so just like that, we continued straight ahead towards Valencia.

That evening was our first night camping in the van in months. And it was delightful!

I’d found a spot to stay that was as secluded as I could find, as I knew that things like camping were still technically not permitted. As with most spots I find on the Park4Night app, I know very little about where we’re headed until we actually arrive. Which made it all the more of a pleasant surprise when we turned off the motorway onto twisting roads, climbing up amid orange groves and little cottages. The evening light made it all the more magical, and it really was a reminder of the kind of moments we were chasing when we first set out to travel in a van.

(images) Our secluded camping spot, where we spent the first night in the van in almost three months.

Relatively hidden from view, we parked up next to the Embalse de Sichar, an enormous reservoir which apparently serves to produce electricity, and also as irrigation for the agriculture in the region. As we pulled up next to the water, I knew I had no more than five minutes before the light completely left and we’d be shrouded in darkness - far away from any town or artificial light. So after a hot and sticky 5 hour drive, I didn’t think twice about plunging into the water.

A 10pm skinny dip felt like the perfect symbol of a new chapter after months of lockdown.

It’s not often that you get to park up in the middle of nowhere right next to a picturesque reservoir. So the next morning, after a somewhat restless night filled with the paranoia of police or park rangers, I actually had another two swims! George thinks it’s hilarious how much I love swimming in nature, and insists that if I was an animal I’d be a labrador. I’ll take that!

(image) Another wild swim in the bag at the Embalse de Sichar.

In order to get the keys to the apartment we’d be staying in, we made our way into the city of Valencia itself, to pick up our friend whose place it is. It was lovely to see him again, and it really made me realise how little I’ve seen of anyone other than George. I’ve been craving social interaction for sure, but having a tiny taste of it once again almost brought about more melancholy than there was before. 

When we arrived with Ramon into the village of Corbera, about 30 minutes outside of the city, it was a welcome sight. Not only was this little town a change of scene, but there were more people out and about than we’d seen before. The Comunitat Valenciana has been hit a little less by coronavirus than Catalonia, so de-escalation had progressed here a bit more, and there were even bars and cafes open.

The sight of things like bars and cafes open once again, places which previously seemed mundane and everyday, has been transformational. It has reaffirmed my need for human interaction, and how much I enjoy not only socialising, but seeing other humans socialise too.

The following days have been a process of acclimatisation. Whilst new surrounds bring variety and hope, they can also bring about a sense of unease, as you adjust to your new home. That feeling has been even more strange because in some ways, the two of us are used to the varied setting of life on the road, but usually with the constant element of living in a van. Now we’re in an apartment, which is a kind of funny mix between temporary and permanent (longer than a holiday, shorter than an official house move). Add to that the fact that we never want to wear the generosity of others thin, and in an ideal world we’d be completely self-sustaining, driving and living in the van (and probably half-way to Asia by now!).

(images, left to right) The van interior with the sofa rotated as a passenger seat, George driving from Valencia to Corbera and my growing collection of books in the van.

Of course, it’s not just George and I who are facing change. Everyone’s plans have changed - from school exams to university graduations, from weddings to funerals and everything in between. Even though the scientists and the climate activists told us that something was going to come along and turn our current way of living on its head, we still couldn’t have imagined what was in store for us and the intensity of its impact.

As well as the terrifying health implications of this pandemic, one of the biggest impacts that most of us who remain healthy have experienced is the social one. And whilst in the early weeks, there was a sense that we were all ‘taking one for the team’ by not seeing family and friends, I have sensed a shift in mood this last week as loneliness and isolation really takes its toll. 

I’ve felt acutely aware of how isolated George and I are, and in talking to others can sense that they are struggling with this too.

There are statistics and theories out there about the different stages of how we collectively deal with challenges like the Covid-19 pandemic and associated lockdown measures. And I’m no expert on the matter, but I’m pretty certain we’re in the “okay this has gotten really rotten now and I just want to hug my friends and go to a cafe and have a beer together and not have to obsessively wash my hands” stage.

Perhaps one of the roughest things about an invisible enemy like this virus is the fact that we as humans can’t fight it in the way we’d like, with a grandiose battle, a clear winner and loser, and a huge victory party. Instead, we face the dreary comedown of ‘de-escalation’, where every social interaction becomes a calculation of risk and everyday experiences are characterised by obsessive sanitation, endless disposable plastic items and the creeping sense of surveillance.

(images) A camera roll filled with selfies is a reminder of my isolation and a documentation of life in Corbera.

One of the ways I’m attempting to tackle this social isolation is to avoid judgement at all costs. It feels like the media wants to pit us against one another, to get us to judge the people who have ‘carelessly’ broken lockdown, the people who are ‘crazy’ for still respecting physical distancing, the people who refuse to send their kids back to school or the people who are desperate for some children to return. I genuinely think (contrary to what the media would have us believe) that most of us are just trying to survive, trying to keep our heads above the water and make conscious decisions with that in mind. Sure, I’m not condoning everyone’s behaviour, but believing that the majority of folk are just people like me, facing this peculiar situation, helps me feel less isolated.

All that said, I’ve heard that people in England are taking much more disregard for the rules. Perhaps my judgement on the matter is skewed because Spain seems to have found the right balance.

Despite the loneliness, we are flooded with things to be grateful for. In fact, that sometimes makes me feel guilty for feeling negative at all! But I try to lean into both emotions: the gratitude and the sadness.

Probably the biggest thing to be grateful for right now is where we’re staying.

I wake up to the sound of chatter at the cafe beneath the flat (only serving people outdoors, with tables set apart from one another but still bustling with life) and spend the sunny days working with the windows flung open and light streaming in. On balmy evenings I walk to the shop to pick up a beer or two and pass the friendly neighbourhood feline corner where at least two or three cats always seem to be lounging around. We’ve found a 5K running route too, which takes us up towards the hills of Les Fontanelles and comes down winding through orange groves with views of the paella rice paddies.

(images, left to right) The cafe downstairs which brings life to the town, sunset over the rooftops and a bunch of old guys having breakfast together, an image which has really stuck with me.

It’s a pretty idyllic place really, and a blessing that we have Broaden to work on as well. I’m building up our portfolio of graphic design and motion graphic work so that we can get more paid work that can be done remotely, whilst finalising a documentary about Portland Cementworks that we began over twelve months ago.

But I’m still conscious that work is a way to escape from this current reality, which although set in the gorgeous town of Corbera, is spent far far away from those that I love. What I would give to be in this same spot with my parents, my university friends, or all the folk we left behind in Australia!

Life in lockdown has certainly cast a new light on the price paid for travelling, and I think these coming weeks will be filled with contemplation as I readjust to this new chapter. Right now, it’s hard to stay fired up about hitting the road again, when that would mean travelling further and further away from the ones we love. But as with the challenges we’ve already faced, I’ll try and lean into it, ready for the lessons I could learn.

[sensitivefern]

I went back to Wellfleet on Sunday. Thought I’d better... get a cardiogram at the Hyannis hospital. Great difficulty getting in and out of the car. They took me up in a wheeled chair. When the woman who took the cardiograms sent mine to the doctor and got his report, she said I shouldn’t leave the hospital without seeing him. He was a Greek with the strange name of Grammaticus, who told me I had an infarct... that I had had a heart attack and that it would be dangerous for me to leave the hospital... I lasted in the hospital only till Saturday, then left against the doctor’s advice... The food without salt is inedible. Everybody says ‘O.K.’ after every remark in a way to drive you crazy. The hospital has a new wing, only open a year – financed, I imagine, by Kennedy money – which they seem to be crazy about.

[Edmund Wilson]

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And reparations. Who would pay for the war – or, more realistically, how much would... Germany pay?... On the very day Wilson landed at Brest, Britain reelected its prime minister, David Lloyd George. His platform: Squeeze Germany ‘until the pips squeak’... As Clemenceau observed, it is ‘much easier to make war than peace’.

[1920: The Year of the Six Presidents]

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...and almost without notice, the persecution of witches died out of England – and its death was the first triumph of the humanizing spirit of Rationalism.

Thus the English Protestant world, which had long ago ceased to expect miracles from God, gradually ceased to expect them from the devil. The principles of Descartes now first began to get a hold on English thought...

[England Under the Stuarts]

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...Aborigines, in one scenario, may have traveled from Australia to Tierra del Fuego via Antarctica... [and] Indians crossed the Bering Strait to find the Americas already settled by Australians. Migration across Antarctica! – exactly the sort of extravagant notion that the whitecoats sought to consign to the historical dustbin.

[1491]

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Finally, remember this, that whenever you have an hour to spare you should give thought to your studies... for it is clear that those who gain knowledge from books have keener wits than others, since those who are the most learned have the best proofs for their knowledge. [...] But... I regard no man perfect in knowledge unless he has thoroughly learned and mastered the customs of the place where he is sojourning.

[‘Advice to A Norwegian Merchant’]

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...Americans [are] among the top consumers of calcium (largely by way of dairy products) in the world, [and] also have one of the world’s highest rates of bone fracture. For over eighty years the milk industry, through relentless advertising and the cooperation of our public school systems and the medical professions, has hammered a myth into the collective American psyche: that cow’s milk is a healthy, calcium-rich food essential to building and maintaining strong bones and teeth. Surprisingly, our obsessive consumption of calcium derived from dairy products seems to be a detriment to our bones and our generally health... The world’s biggest consumers of cow’s milk, dairy products, and calcium – Australia, New Zealand, North America, and Western Europe – also have the highest risk of suffering a bone fracture.

For years, numerous studies have shown a link between dairy consumption and a variety of common ailments including allergies, acne, constipation, colitis, eczema, colic, and ear infections, to name just a few... A host of insidious diseases, including bovine tuberculosis, Johne’s disease (implicated as a cause of Crohn’s disease in humans), leukemia and an AIDS-like condition, now infect many dairy herds. An extensive list of contaminants routinely found in dairy food includes poisons like dioxin, pesticides, flame-retardants, dry-cleaning solvent, and even rocket fuel and radioactive substances.

[Whitewash: The Disturbing Truth About Cow’s Milk and Your Health]

===

An excellent Cosmetic for the Face.

Take a pound of levigated Hartshorn, two pounds of Rice Powder, half a pound of Ceruss, Powder of dried Bones, Frankincense, Gum Mastic, and Gum Arabic, of each two ounces. Dissolve the whole in a sufficient quantity of Rose-water, and wash the face with this fluid.

[The Toilet of Flora]

===

The social status of the American pedagogue helps along the process. Unlike in Europe, where he has a secure and honorable position, he ranks, in the United States, somewhere between a Methodist preacher and a prosperous brick-yard owner – certainly clearly below the latter. Thus the youth of civilized upbringings feels that it would be stooping a bit to take up the rattan. But the plow-hand obviously makes a step upward, and is hence eager for the black gown. Thereby a vicious circle is formed. The plow-hand, by entering the ancient guild, drags it down still further, and so makes it increasingly difficult to snare apprentices from superior castes.

A glance at "Who's Who in America" offers a good deal of support for all this theorizing. There was a time when the typical American professor came from a small area in New England – for generations the seat of a high literacy, and even of a certain austere civilization. But to-day he comes from the region of silos, revivals, and saleratus. Behind him there is absolutely no tradition of aristocratic aloofness and urbanity, or even of mere civilized decency. He is a bind by birth, and he carries the smell of the dunghill into the academic grove – and not only the smell, but also some of the dung itself. What one looks for in such men is dullness, superficiality, a great credulity, an incapacity for learning anything save a few fly-blown rudiments, a passionate yielding to all popular crazes, a malignant distrust of genuine superiority, a huge megalomania. These are precisely the things that one finds in the typical American pedagogue of the new dispensation.

[H. L. Mencken, Prejudices, Third Series]

===

❚The Chevrolet Celebrity is a mid-size car produced by Chevrolet. The Celebrity was introduced in 1981 for the 1982 model year. The Celebrity was the best-selling car in the United States in 1986. Although sold for only one generation, it received a variety of facelifts during its nine year run. The coupe was discontinued after 1988, the sedan after 1989 and the wagon by early 1990...

Deputies Find 54 Xanax Pills in Florida Man’s Anus Florida Man Suspected of Stealing Nickelback Drummer’s Identity

Entertainer and activist Harry Belafonte turns 90

David Frum Uh oh Talk-show host and national darling Oprah Winfrey says she’s reconsidering the possibility of a presidential run

Klingenschmitt Finds More Demons

Horace Parlan, Jazz Pianist, Dies at 86

William Liebenow, 97, Dies; PT Boat Skipper Rescued Kennedy

The hamburger chain Burger King has been buying animal feed produced in soy plantations carved out by the burning of tropical forests in Brazil and Bolivia, according to a new report.

Jaguars, giant anteaters and sloths have all been affected by the disappearance of around 700,000 hectares (1,729,738 acres) of forest land between 2011 and 2015. The campaign group Mighty Earth says that evidence gathered from aerial drones, satellite imaging, supply-chain mapping and field research shows a systematic pattern of forest-burning. Local farmers carried out the forest-burning to grow soybeans for Burger King’s suppliers Cargill and Bunge, the only two agricultural traders known to be operating in the area.

DID YOU KNOW THE INCA EMPIRE LASTED FOR ONLY 95 YEARS?

Until the 1970s, bluefin tuna was a literal trash fish. If it wasn’t put into cat food, sport fishermen paid to have it hauled off to dumps (after taking a smiling photo next to their strung-up carcasses). Until the mid-1900s, tuna’s reputation was so bad in Japan that it was referred to as neko-matagi, food too low for even a cat to eat. Now, bluefin is the most expensive fish in the ocean. The Pacific bluefin population is at less than 3 percent of historic high levels, and last year, a number of environmental groups petitioned the U.S. National Marine Fisheries Service to add the fish to its endangered-species list. Demand is so high that many upscale sushi restaurants have refused to take bluefin tuna off their menus, even amid growing concerns about the precipitously low numbers. Compared to pandas or floppy-eared elephants, there’s little public sympathy for the declining bluefin. After all, they’re neither snuggly nor puppy-eyed. They’re just fish.

Hard hitting piece of journalism from the New York Times: A man's struggle on his trying to grow a beard