From a French surname, originally De la Noye, indicating that the bearer was from a place called La Noue (ultimately Gaulish meaning “wetland, swamp”) or, in my Delano’s case, replace wetland by awesome river and swamp by the reeds that grow in said river.
Delano is the keeper of a particularly beautiful pool where unbeknownst to me earlier, harbours one of the biggest brown trout i’ve ever caught. i didn’t actually land this big trout because Delano told it to first go into those reeds, then go around a few stalks and proceed to head back towards me at full speed, on the last fish of the last day of trout season.
Delano had no idea of my good intentions towards the slimy brute so i won’t hold it against him, he’s only doing his job afterall. i’ll try having a word or two with him during the off-season to see if we can get on better terms. he’s proud and haughty and all that but experience has taught me that a few kind words and a smile can open tightly shut doors.
my own watery moon is the result of playing around with the phone and binoculars. no mysticism there, its just something do i thoughtlessly without an agenda but if you’d like to know more about the quote above and see a really sassy lady at the same time click below. enjoy !
its not gross at all, in fact i really like it.
rund sten is Swedish for round stone.
what looks like onion rings is rock stratum of a harder substance than the grey stone. the softer grey part eroded faster leaving the raised rings.
an hour or so later i realised that i hadn’t even touched this sten, much less kept it for my collection. i hope someone else discovers it and enjoys its uniqueness.
poor guy. an exciting name like Publius Vergilius Maro gets vulgarly reduced to Virgil to what, simplify its pronunciation to the masses ?… anyhow, Publius the Poet wasn’t referring to some schmaltzy romanticism when he wrote that but was a deep understanding of one of the only real boundaries that nature on earth has to offer. shores, whether they be in fresh or salt, in still, flowing or seas are the demarcation point between us and them but its also where the two of us can meet as we’re both inextricably attracted to this boundary each one safely in our comfort zones. sometimes we mingle, sometimes we don’t and that’s just fine because something within told us to go there and we simply did what we where supposed to do.
meh… there i go doing exactly one of the things i dislike the most about contemporary photography and any kind of art in general. something i’ve (unsuccessfully) been (mildly) fighting against ever since i did photo school in 1982:
finding the need to put words to images where the image should tell the story on its own and whatever the viewer sees or not or feels or not is their own private business and not mine. besides, i’m a really shitty writer, i know it. it’s just not my thing and i definitely don’t enjoy it and it shows. i’ll try to not fall into that trap again so,
here’s a shore that had its own story to tell.
contrary to Conan Doyle’s story which bears that very title, i can’t really tell you this animal’s adventures or even how it lived, but can only pictorially report it’s death, however
at this point in my life i’ve seen about a billion dead creatures but none as amazingly beautiful, creepy, hallucino-trippy, galaxy-encompassing, fleshy, cool, gooey and oh, i just can’t find any other words so i will just leave you with this Lion’s Mane jellyfish i found on the beach yesterday at Gare Loch, a sea loch connected to river Clyde near Glasgow, Scotland to enjoy.