«Ella volaba, no como pueden hacerlo los pájaros. Ella volaba como si tuviese todo un cielo encerrado en sus párpados, y al mirarla, podías entender que era capaz de ir a cualquier parte sin moverse. Tenía un mundo lleno de lugares preciosos dentro de su cabeza. Tampoco era una mujer de muchas palabras. La belleza es muy distinta cuando la contemplas en silencio. Siempre quise cogerla de la mano y llevarla a mis sitios favoritos, así ella también formaría parte de esos recuerdos. Creo no necesitar muchas más cosas. Estuve durante mucho tiempo equivocado, no era cuestión de viajar y conocer nuevos y lejanos lugares, sino más bien de aprenderse de memoria aquellos que ya conocía. Pienso además en su cuerpo. Su cuerpo por aquel entonces me parecía una isla de esas a las que aún no ha llegado el hombre. Tenía sus playas vírgenes, sus costas y sus bosques, como si esperase que algún náufrago fuese a parar a la orilla de su vida. Y precisamente eso siempre me dio miedo. Yo arrastraba conmigo la civilización, el cambio climático, el capitalismo. «Si nos queremos, que sepas que no volverás a ser tú misma». «No me importa» me dijo. Había olvidado que el paraíso de vez en cuando se cansa de esa paz que encierra. La entendí, de alguna forma. El amor es como esa persona que nos susurra al oído que lo dejemos todo por algo que ni siquiera nos conviene.»
It is such a gift to bear witness to the complex behaviours and family dynamics, working as a cohesive family unit, within orca pods. What a privilege it is to be able to witness these majestic predators doing what they do best. The delicate balance between prey and predator, the poetry between life and death.
The freedom and simple beauty is just too good to pass up.
tell me how the mountains give you peace and the ocean makes you restless, of the poetry you read and the song you fell asleep with, any fear that makes you bleed and every dream that breaks you open.
Our little friends are back to the cliffs
Early morning April 14th 2010 one of the most consequential eruptions of Icelandic history began, when the Eyjafjallajökull volcano, hidden beneath the glacier bearing its name that you are seeing on the picture, erupted. It was an «explosive eruption», where magma and ash were thrown into the air in a violent fashion. The Eyjafjallajökull eruption produced very little lava, but huge quantities of glass-rich ash which was ejected into the atmosphere. By seven in the morning the eruption had melted its way through the glacier ice cap, allowing the eruption to spew ash into the air. By 10:30 in the morning the ash plume had risen to an altitude of 22,000 feet. The ash cloud from the eruption covered farmland south of the glacier, causing significant disruption and hardship to farmers in the area. But its effects on air traffic in Europe was even larger. On April 15th countries within the European airspace closed their airspace to commercial jet traffic. A total of 20 countries closed their airspace, causing delays and canceled flights which affected as many as 10 million travellers. This was the largest disruption to air traffic since the II World War. Nevertheless the big one has yet to come, Eyjafjallajökull has erupted rather regularly since the end of the last Ice Age, the most recent eruptions were in 920, 1612 and 1821-23. Historically eruptions in Eyjafjallajökull have been followed by eruptions in its larger and monster sister volcano, Katla.
chill out baby
these bones. they are branded with your name. And I wonder, can you hear my skin whispering, calling for you
upon the lava 🌋
i just need you and some sunsetz
I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life.
Jæja... hvað segir þú?
a time to be small. | pic by @dissociate_d
his lighthouse eyes always had a light of bringing me home.
«There is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.»
«I hear you calling and I want to come Run straight into the valleys of your arms and disappear there But I know my love could fail you Because in a clearing when the sunlight comes Exposing all the shadows of/in our intricate behavior I see/feel a sort of fading We build our own unfolding. It's in the morning when the sadness comes The tears fall down in patterns on the windows and our shape is undone You only wanted holding and I let my structure fail you You know, I watched as it unfolded. And in the image of the other hand A needle drawing pictures in the blood that runs the valley Your honesty engraves me Stay the line The pain of its derailing And in the water where a mirror opens up To show the gravity of non-repeating patterns When no one else can hold you Come in and then unfold Oh the lines I'm lying just to hold you It's in the evening when the moonlight comes Illuminating silver in the rivers as they fall/run into the sea The beauty of their failure as the tides erase their lining There's nothing left to hold to.»
i swear, there are things more beautiful than words can tell.
i love the light in your eyes and the dark in your heart.