13/15 February 1945 ~ Jeff Grant

Reblogged from besonian:

The other day, I listened to an interview, recorded very recently, with a British man, now over 100 years old – a prisoner of war I suspect – who was caught up in the bombing of the German city of Dresden by British and American air forces, 75 years ago. He came across as a very ordinary man, honest and straightforward, probably with little education beyond the elementary that would have been standard when he was school age.

Talking with the interviewer, he describes scenes so harrowing you just don’t want to hear of them – at least, in one sense you don’t. But in another, you do; we all do; scenes which we need to hear about in order to lead us to feel in our hearts what he did that night – a night when the ‘stupidity’ of war, as he put it, was so blatantly, cruelly exposed.

Continue reading at besonian

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Storm ~ Lady Lee #writephoto

Thick clouds forming
Eerily calm before the storm
Chill in the air, rainstorm brewing
And when the storm came, even apes wanted raincoats

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Beneath our feet… – Guest Post at TRSA by Felicity Sidnell Reid…

Reblogged from The Story Reading Ape:

Is a fascination with what lies underground a universal preoccupation? A positive answer to this question is the underlying message from Will Hunt’s recent book, Underground (Simon and Schuster, 2019) which argues that our relationship with what lies beneath  is so tied into our evolution that it has become unconscious and instinctual.

From the oldest of legends and folktales, through millennia of spiritual practices and stories from religions around the world to the evolutionary theories, which some micro-biologists are suggesting today, the nature of the subterranean world and its inhabitants has provided us with some of our longest-lasting mysteries.

Continue reading at The Story Reading Ape

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Storm ~ Catherine Ross #writephoto

Cia’s first two stories:

Thursday photo prompt: Chill #writephoto

Thursday Photo Prompt- Day Break #WritePhoto

A storm was brewing, Cia felt it in the air. Clouds began to form as flashes of lightning in the distance came closer. Thunder rumbled.

Made of stone, mud, and moss, the once bustling tower stood in the middle of the field. Alone. Like that tower, so was Cia.

She gathered as much firewood as she could manage to carry back to the cave.

The wolf she had nursed back to health met her at the entrance. Whisper had caught a rabbit. Cia harvested it and gave the wolf the meat while she kept the fur. She was a bit tired of rabbit meat.

Continue reading at Writer of Fantasy & Fiction

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Storm ~ Sadje #writephoto

We fear the ferocity of the storm about to break

Making sure that all safety precautions are taken

Little do we understand that nature needs them

To reset the balance of things that is tipped by

The miscalculated actions we take each and every day

Continue reading at  Keep it Alive

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Ancient stories

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One of the things that have struck home over the past few years, wandering around the churches of Britain, is just how much we learn and understand from stories and images. The record held in these ancient places goes back over a thousand years, with artefacts much, much older preserved in many of them. And these are not random old buildings, but all aligned with a single tradition, a single faith, a single story that the builders, artisans and holders of the lore saw as paramount.

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Painted walls, carved stone and wood, stained glass… these were marvels of media that recounted the biblical story for all with eyes to see. At a time when books were hand-drawn and precious, the masses untutored, unable to read or follow the Latin of the service, these images were the key to understanding. In many churches there are older, pre-Christian artefacts. Were they a remnant of the desire to convert almost through stealth or a genuine acknowledgement of the sacredness of the older pagan faith? That is not impossible given Pope Gregory’s instructions to Mellitus in the 6th century Mission, “Tell Augustine that he should be no means destroy the temples of the gods but rather the idols within those temples. Let him, after he has purified them with holy water, place altars and relics of the saints in them. For, if those temples are well built, they should be converted from the worship of demons to the service of the true God. Thus, seeing that their places of worship are not destroyed, the people will banish error from their hearts and come to places familiar and dear to them in acknowledgement and worship of the true God.” The whole letter is revealing.

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It is fascinating to see how the emphasis of the story has evolved and shifted to suit the needs of the prevalent authorities, secular and religious, and how thought has been subtly directed. Many of the oldest churches, particularly in areas where Celtic Christianity was prevalent, seem to focus simply on a gentle faith not dissimilar to some of the older tales, and we can trace many of the early stories of the saints back to pre-Christian deities, adopted and absorbed into the new story. Then comes the hellfire and brimstone, later still the break from Rome followed by the Puritanical obliteration of imagery in many places. Yet another thread winds through as the local barons and lords endow churches in a display of political power and wealth, matched in kind but surpassed in magnificence by the lords of the Church with the great cathedrals and abbeys. No matter who ruled the land, it was easy to see where the balance of true power resided.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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Storm ~ Cheryl #writephoto

Standing alone in the gray

Only a sliver of blue-white to save me

I continue watching and waiting for you.

Reblogged from The Bag Lady

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Petals #midnighthaiku

First confetti falls

Windblown petals herald spring

Winter’s bride blushes

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Cobwebs and superglue ~ Jim Webster

Reblogged from Jim Webster:

spiders-web-sword-fantasy-wallpaper-preview

I remember, many years ago, watching the vet treat a cow which was tied in a stall in the building next to the milking parlour. Because it was easy to separate a cow from her mates there, after she’d been milked, this was the stall we used for cows the vet needed to see. It was light and easily pressure-hosed off so was always clean.

The vet looked up at the ceiling. To be fair we’d been wary of pressure hosing that, if only because the roof was a fair age and we didn’t fancy taking the risk of loosening the slates. The vet surveyed the thick cobwebs with some enthusiasm. “Always handy to have some of them about if you have a bad cut to treat.”

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How Trusting Algorithms Saved Humanity ~ Geoff Le Pard #writephoto

No one knew the purpose of Rhymer’s Tomb. It stood on its knoll for as long as men had memories and speech to record its presence. It withstood the vagaries of nature and man and refused to give up the secrets of which all who saw it knew it contained. Perhaps it was that obduracy that drew men to its side or perhaps it was some mystic quality that men of old knew without learning. Whatever the magic, men gathered in its lee, taking shelter and protection from its constancy.

Time pocked it but its defences did not crack. Even as rationality overtook instinct, still it resisted men’s attempts to pierce its carapace. Theories abounded and while educated ears deafened many to its draw, there were still those whose ability to hear was not dulled by the lure of education. Those dwindling few stayed, unable to articulate what kept them there but harsh were they in their resistance to rules that dictated their removal.

Continue reading at TanGental

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