Echoing Troops

The air was ripe. With many different fragrances. It was that time of year, when the leaves began to fall off the trees, so the smell of rotting foliage was lingering. The grass was at its fullest, before the first frost arrive - smelling full and rich of earth. There were of course the cows, that trotted through the pasture, adding their own pungent aroma to the air - creating a scent that was sweet and light, yet full and dismissing. It was the smell of a European farm.

There was one smell though that was creeping in with all the others - the smell of gun powder and smoke. It was the kind of smell that attacks the back of the nose, the part that can't be flushed. It sticks with you. In you. Warning of what was over the horizon, past the lush green field, beyond the row of trees and behind the hedge rows.

At night the sky would light up with flashes of the approaching platoons and patrols. During the day, the firing back and forth sounded like firecrackers off in the distance. The artillery echoed like an ever present thunderstorm.

Just a few days ago the Allies had stormed the beaches. Now they were trudging through the farmlands.

They were here to free France.

Liquid Sediment

There is something oddly beautiful about glass blowing. I don't know if it's the curves of the finished product, the gentleness that is involved in moving the piece while it is being blown, or the concept of changing something as simple and crude as sand into something so amazing.

Watching it is almost mesmerizing. The artists are so calm about their work, regardless that at any moment their piece could become ruined.

I also love how glass blowing hasn't evolved through technology - they literally have kept the same process since the art form begin - heat sand, blow it, roll it, cool it.

It also doesn't hurt how beautifully shot this video is - between the light reflecting in the glass (the black and white only enhances this point), or the closeups of the grains of sand as they fall through the hour glass.

This is a certainly a hobby I would like to learn or at least try.


The Hourglass from Ikepod on Vimeo.

Trickle

They came here every day, regardless of if the sun was shining down on them, the sky was hidden by clouds, or rain drenched them. This was their routine and they were going to keep it that way.

Ever since they could remember, they had gone to that spot and sat there, together, sometimes talking, other times laughing, occasionally in silence - but it was always together. Of course they loved each other, they were siblings, but when they were here, no matter the circumstances, they were together.

The water always trickled below their feet - regardless of time of year. It was cool and refreshing, clean, and clear. In the summer months, even the shade of the trees above weren't enough to protect them from the heat, leaving the water as their last escape to cool down. It had taken a few years, but the younger one could finally let her feet dangle into the water. She was proud she no longer had to cheat to the front of the bench on order to submerge her toes. She was growing up quickly. They both were.

They swore their father had built the swing for them when they were both very little, before he had passed, and this was the spot where they could still spend time with him.

Everyday there were there. Everyday they would swing on the bench.

It could have been the wind nudging them back and forth - but they knew it was their father.


******

This photo was taken from a documentary produced by Ridley and Tony Scott that premiered and has since played on youtube, called "Life in a Day."

It is a documentary generated completely by viewers, shot all over the world, about, well, "a life in a day" around the globe.

Check out the trailer, it's really unique and genuine:

UV

It didn't matter that there was frost on the top of his ears, that he couldn't feel his toes, or that each breath felt like there was a tiny ball of knives in his lungs - he wanted to see this.

There is something magical about a winter sunset. It could be how the oranges seem to explode along the horizon, like a firework exploding once it reached it's ascent. It is possible that it is how the wind seems to die down - aware that it should leave this place along with the sun, allowing for stillness to settle over the landscape.

He had always thought it was how the  world seemed to change. As the sun fell out of the sky, the body knows the darkness is coming - tensing for it, waiting for the cold to approach and envelope the darkness. As prepared as you are, the same feelings always rises out of the chest - urging you to do something before the sun disappears below the eye line. It's as if some force is present, waiting to strike at it's first chance.

But today - he realized what he loved about a winter sunset.

In less than twelve hours, he'd be able to witness an amazing winter sunrise.

Ink

This is an interesting little piece.

Not that I want a tattoo - or to say that I'll never get one, but for this moment in my life - I'm content with my body ink-free.

I honestly think this short would be stronger with no dialogue or narration, but I didn't make it, so it is out of my control.

What I do like though? Is that they filmed it in black and white - which is stark in contrast to the tattoos, which are more often than not vibrant and vividly colored.

I appreciate that creative flare.


N.Y. Adorned “Tradition” from Evan Owen Dennis on Vimeo.

Petrol

Oil'd from Chris Harmon on Vimeo.

I Love Sciene

Holy shit. This is amazing.

I'm never amazed at how frequently I am blown away with our advances in science - specifically in medicine.

The following is an example:



Along with some other medical break throughs, so many lives could be changed.

Truly this is some aw inspiring stuff.

Thank you UCLA, doctors, and other people in the science and medical fields.

Forgotten

They were cute. The both of them. Tuckered out from the day - playing outside, giggling in the rays of the sun - the bottoms of their feet stained green from the trampled grass.

Beds were comfortable, but they preferred the ground. There is always somethings special about how the woven fibers feel against the face and how the musty smell of the carpet relaxes the soul - lets it know it is safe, that it is home.

She dreamt of this past Christmas. Opening her presents over and over again, smiling and laughing - filled with joy. An endless memory - a mental snap shot stuck on repeat.

He dreamt of a daring sea adventure - him at the wheel of the ship, running from pirates. He had stolen their gold and taken off in his skipper - outrunning their large battleship. He'd soon be back to port, spending the money as he chose - causing a ruckus, laughing with his men, eating and drinking grub and grog.

It was the perfect spot. Most of their bodies were in the shade, but just enough sunlight was invading the room through the blinds to keep them warm. 

It'd be a long time before they woke - charged and ready to romp around again.