Source: One Born Every Minute
At Little Loch Broom, the clouds quite literally roll in to let the light fall in stripes over the iron hills, so ancient and half-asleep they don’t even notice any more.
At Gairloch, the bracken has died but not before showing its true colour of rust.
The bare rocks that protrude slate grey are the worn down teeth of primordial giants, megaliths that did battle through the Scotch mists of time.
At the Assynt, the peaks have given in to solitude. When the sun occasions to shine on them, they espy one another from afar. They talk in ancient riddles across the glen but of what we still haven’t deciphered.
The leaf that refuses to yield long after the rain has turned to snow.
The red bricks of Bhaktapur took a pounding the day the earthquake struck.
Langtang shook like a baby’s rattle the day the earthquake struck.
Not all of the buildings you see still stand. Yet one thing does: the memory of Nepal as it was, as it will be again.
All images supplied by Ⓒtrespasserine2014
Lyrics supplied by the Stone Roses, Tightrope, Second Coming, 1994
From peasants tilling fields at the close of day to ribbed hillsides breathing out vapour at the break of day, the countryside of northwestern Thailand is serene in its majesty. After decades of widespread hunting the forests may have fallen eerily silent, but no man armed with bow or rifle can bring down the tropical sun. Where birds once cawed and monkeys once howled, it is the dawn the makes all the noise nowadays.
Please click on image to enlarge. Trust me, it’ll be worth your while.