#sunset rouen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

12.7% of mobile users access Tumblr.

dragonstudio · 1 year

Photo

RETOUR EN FIAT-500 FORGES-LES-EAUX / FRANCE Forges-les-Eaux est une commune française située dans le département de la Seine-Maritime en région Normandie, célèbre pour son casino. Elle est créée le 1er janvier 2016 sous le statut de commune nouvelle après la fusion des communes de Forges-les-Eaux et du Fossé. La commune est traversée par l’Andelle. Elle abrite également plusieurs lacs, alimentés par ladite rivière. Au nord-est de la ville se trouve le bois de l’Épinay, qui abrite quelques lieux connus des habitants (notamment la source de La Chevrette, l’une des 4 sources de la ville), et qui est le théâtre annuel d’un concours de chiens de traineaux. Au nord de la ville près de Serqueux débute sur l’ancien tracé de la voie ferrée l’Avenue Verte, une piste cyclable qui s’arrête au sud de Dieppe. #sunset #normandie #france #rouen #voyage #photo #casino #fiat500 #photography #カジノ #fiat #sky #paris #travel #カジノバー #フィアット500 #friends #フランス #instagood #バー #フィアット #夕焼け #煉瓦 #lovers #ルーレット #チンクエチェント #nature #instafollow #trip #photooftheday https://dragonstudio.fr/2019/06/04/retour-en-fiat-500-forges-les-eaux-france-photo/ (à Forges-les-Eaux) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmOkOQQIHY-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

0 notes

ourstaturestouchtheskies · 12 days

Text

august by taylor swift x skies by claude monet

Haystacks, White Frost Effect, Sunrise // Haystacks, Sun in the Mist // The Houses of Parliament (London), Sunset // Haystacks // Haystacks in the Sunlight // Sailboat, Evening Effect // Flowered Riverbank, Argenteuil // The Ball-Shaped Tree, Argenteuil // Argenteuil, Late Afternoon // View of Rouen // Haystacks (Sunset) // Norwegian Landscape: The Blue Houses // Haystacks (End of Day, Autumn) // Charing Cross Bridge, London // San Giorgio Maggiore // Marine, Pourville // The Fort of Antibes, Afternoon Effect // The Doge’s Palace Seen from San Giorgio Maggiore // Vétheuil // Vétheuil // The Seine at Vétheuil // Charing Cross Bridge, The Thames // Banks of the Seine at Lavacourt // Rocks at Belle-Isle, Port-Domois // Val-Saint-Nicolas, Near Dieppe (Morning) // august – Taylor Swift

56 notes · View notes

random-brushstrokes · 5 months

Text

Camille Pissarro - The Pont Boieldieu, Rouen, Sunset (1896)

#camille pissarro #french art #cityscape #1890s

133 notes · View notes

spinmeround · 6 months

Text

The Pont Boieldieu, Rouen, Sunset - Camille Pissarro

14 notes · View notes

homomenhommes · 6 months

Text

It is very interesting to observe how Monet understood this concept of physics and applied it in the famous Rouen Cathedral series. The image shows just some of the thirty-one canvases are an exemplary demonstration of how light gives color. What is the color of the cathedral stone? It's red at sunset, gray on a foggy day, golden under the bright sun!…

8 notes · View notes

contenteditor · 18 days

Text

Quand le soleil décline...🌅 #rouen #vieuxrouen #RouenPhoto #eglisesaintmaclou #saintmaclou #igersrouen #rouenenphoto #seinemaritime #seinemaritimetourisme #normandie #normandietourisme #normandiephotos #normandiejolie #hautenormandie #hautenormandietourisme #insta_normandy #photography #churchphotography #gothic #sunset #sunsetphotography #churchmypassion #patrimoinenormand #patrimoinerouen #flanerie @igersrouen @seinemaritime | by r.a.i.n.66

3 notes · View notes

alien-in-residence · 4 days

Text

Survivors of Terra ch4. The Captain and the Anthropologist

The massive bulk of the foreship thrums with the immense power that grants it the ability to cheat the universe of its main limit on speed. The engine spins its slow start-up and the followers are given their vectors. The foreship, Swift Green Sunset, pulls into its starting position. It waits far from the station as it gathers cargo. Captain Yh’Rnih delivers an update to the station traffic controller and turns to her bridge crew. They reply with their console updates, not needing to be pointed at or called upon. They know the captain’s rhythms and have learned their expected roles. They are prepared, all checks green.

A mid-sized cargo hauler is running late to its assigned vector. Sunset’s own traffic command demands they hurry up. The hauler finds its speed but cuts it close before Yh’Rnih can yell at them. The foreship completes its spin up and the order is given to let the engine roar. The captain takes the com and speaks to the whole caravan. She gives the usual, jovial welcome and outlines the many amenities the foreship offers to its followers.

A tremendous thud echoes through the bones of the Sunset as warp is achieved. The caravan is no longer visible from outside their own little warp space. The edge of their micro-reality is nothing but beige streaks as the universe passes them by. The tip of the warp “bubble” is barely an atom thick, threading the caravan through space as they skirt past the speed of light. The computer announces over PA when the foreship meets, then exceeds lightspeed. Yh’Rnih watches the read-out as they creep up to their cruising speed of five times the speed of light.

The caravan’s followers are thinner on this run. There is more breathing room between the cargo haulers and the private passengers. Captain Yh’Rnih frowns slightly as she surveys the current run’s profit margin. They will survive. They’re actually doing well compared to twenty years ago. But the captain is still haunted by the drop in caravan followers. She wonders if her blood’s luck has run dry. She worries if war will come. She does not know that her foreship holds in its wake, a being that may destroy The Exchange.

Kallton, Psion score 2113, rests in his personally chartered tug. It is modest in that it was cheap to acquire. Kallton decorates his small quarters lavishly, displaying the triumphs of his six centuries of work. Bones from a long abandoned Huliotess offshoot sit on a satin rug. An eye chart for an aquatic Vharhek subspecies is framed on his wall.

This being is the premier genetics psion of the Imperium. There is not a creature alive more experienced or qualified in the sciences of inheritance. Kallton has lived across the centuries, normally chartered and protected in a sub-FTL ship from the ancient past. The Imperium has sent him again and again into the future, in order to observe the changes over generations. Kallton has hypothesized on genetic drift and development and then stood there, in-person, decades later to watch it come true. But now he travels like a mortal, booking passage on a Rouen-Ta operated warp-caravan across the length of The Exchange.

His journey will take six months. Six precious months that would usually be spent traveling at relativistic speeds, propelling him years into the future. A curiosity has taken hold of his famous psyche and so he has risked his precious time. He has risked even the potential treason to see his curiosity sated. A message pinged desperately across interstellar space has reached him. A message from an old colleague has begged him to come to a small backwater world that once resisted the Imperium's might. And Kallton will do it. For in that message is a hint at something he has hunted most of his life.

Kallton should be at the apex of his civilization. None of the species or subspecies of the Imperium live longer than his own kind, the Yonks. And Kallton has lived on even longer, surpassing the normal 200 year lifespan by means of relativistic time dilation. Yet something disturbs him. How has he, a creature of such immense age and intelligence, been ordered and corralled all these centuries? Officially, his assignments come from the Imperial council, a collection of species representatives and high level bureaucrats. But he has outlived them all.

Nothing should rival the scale of his own perspective and yet he has felt this pervasive higher intelligence influencing everything. He has seen these higher trends, inexplicable by just the dull march of civilization. An errant gene therapy that scours a subspecies from existence. A missing colony that no one remembers save for him when he stood there centuries ago. Small details pile up as he has surveyed the Imperium over the eons. He never speaks of his fears, he never voices his paranoia. But he follows every lead, every unexplained loose end. Any instance where an unknown authority moves behind the scenes.

He calls his phantom the Imperial life-form. He believes it to be a secret subspecies of the Imperium, long lived and immensely intelligent. Kallton considers himself to have no equals or superiors, so he hunts this hypothetical life-form like a rival. He'll find this elusive being and dissect it. He's been close before but never had a lead this promising.

The call from Yeeyick had all the telltale signs he'd seen before. It was made even more promising that he'd never told Yeeyick his suspicions. The occupied backwater had a series of strange disappearances. These 'humans' had gone missing in batches, sent to facilities that didn't exist or had been decommissioned. To Yeeyick, it had been a mild curiosity born of missing personnel and funds. Likely just a tale born of corruption. To Kallton, it was the smoking gun. Each new alien contact had something similar: missing persons, hidden facilities, a dead-end paper trail. Then silence, no signs or breadcrumbs for generations.

Kallton knows he has little time. His suspicion says the Imperial life-form was on this backwater, and would be leaving soon. This is his best chance to catch it before it goes to ground again until the next first contact.

In the meantime, he's combing through initial genetic reports of the human race. First contact was well over a century ago. Kallton had been preventing speciation along the Duoro border at the time. He’d missed most of the war itself while in another relativistic time loss. The humans have standard deviations for a sexually reproducing species. Their two sex chromosomes have some interesting variations and interactions. The puzzle pieces that fit together to make the human genome can be rearranged in interesting ways.

Kallton became more intrigued the longer he looked. He thinks it a tragedy he hadn’t looked at these reports earlier. The humans are remarkably pliable when it comes to genetic damage and alteration. Their internal maintenance systems have several layers of redundancy and correction. Much of the latter half of the report is written by humans with details and specifications of genetic and inherited diseases.

The report is of the type passed around by ambassadors during the first-contact phase. It likely presents a propagandized version of humanity with edits to remove dangerous information. Kallton is impressed by the thorough and honest nature of the report. Notes in the margins by a now dead Yonk researcher state that the initial human report had been truthful with little concealed in terms of structure and function. Next to a family web of inherited traits the researcher had noted, “Remarkable, multi and inter-generational inheritance with little data loss.” Kallton, too used to jumping from one project to the next, is excited to have a singular focus for the next few months.

His small tug is filled with the sounds of his own rambling monologue. Data sheets move rapidly from table, to bed, to floor, and back again. Models of genetic drift form in his head as he gets more and more of a picture of the human species. His process of understanding involves reverse engineering the genetic makeup of the species and then making inheritance predictions. He will then compare his predictive models to any experimental evidence he’s collected. Usually he would perform this research over literal generations as the species he studies passes through time. But now he is not sitting in relativistic space as decades pass by. Now he is looking through a century’s worth of data on a backwater species. And he is completely enthralled.

On the foreship, Yh’Rnih scans the manifest of each ship, readying herself for the next port’s check. Each tug is meager, likely lying to avoid tax. She has a hunch that they’re skimping, hoarding for some hardship. No one has any faith in peace these days. She’s no patriot but when she thinks of the Imperium crossing the DMZ into her nation her fur stands on end. She moves her caravan closer and closer to the border with each season, chasing where the pay is higher. But even that trend unsettles her.

The border has been unsafe as of late. The Imperium is and has always been an unreadable neighbor. Little news escapes without first being propagandized and heavily edited. Yh'Rnih has only rumors to go on but the rumors aren't good. Tales of rebellious worlds found quiet and abandoned. Ghost stories always thrived off spacers and the tension and fear of war is fuel for the fire.

She has tried not to squash the scary stories her crew tell each other. If she came down too hard on them they might read into her motives. Best they relax in their own way and if some legends of ghost worlds keep them wary of Imperium raids, all the better. Her head navigator is absent-mindedly double checking debris reports while the junior shield tech rambles on about a rumor he heard of a ghost ship entering port just last month.

The story goes that an Imperium cargo hauler drifted into port in Rouen-Ta space with no one on board. The station crew combed through the logs and found that all the internal records just stopped suddenly while they were in FTL. There were no signs of a struggle but thin layers of mixed species blood all over the nav console. The shield tech reaches the end of his story and eerily comments that it had to have been pirates, with the godlike technology to pull ships out of warp. He trails off as he quietly says, “Or something worse.”

Yh’Rnih has heard stories like this before. The ability to pull another ship out of warp has always been a myth that spacer’s tell each other. The bubble of warp space that each ship creates while it flies has always felt like a safe haven to spacers. It is only natural that they would invent horror stories about this safety being violated. Most pirates strike just outside of ports, when ships are entering or exiting warp. The truly enterprising ones will create traps through false distress signals or tricking a computer into thinking the caravan is about to crash into a small asteroid. They do anything they can to force ships out of warp and then strike before the foreship can restart its engines. Yh’Rnih has been witness to such tactics before and it is why she pays for a navigator instead of relying on a computer to chart their course.

The caravan is a mosaic of customers this run. There are three large cargo haulers that nearly dwarf the Swift Green Sunset in size. There’s also a dozen or so passenger skiffs with accommodations that match their prices. Unlike other caravan captains, Yh’Rnih does not begrudge the passenger ships for undercutting the foreship’s own passenger service, but she does charge a premium. Then there is the bread and butter of this run, maybe a half hundred individual tugs. Each one is barely the size of her own captain’s quarters. These tugs are cheap and possess only the most basic flight controls to stay in formation in the caravan.

Yh’Rnih thinks the caravan looks like a school of fish as it moves through space. Her ship, the foreship, is the leader and guardian of the rest. She has pride in her career. Her blood is storied and their station respectable. She may not be a trade lord or a great politician, but on The Sunset she is god. This is her domain. The warp bubble is her own little micro-universe with her as its sole and supreme authority. She checks the shield integrity one last time out of habit. Should it fail, the slightest interstellar dust would shred the whole caravan to dust. She does not even consider the option of it failing. As she leaves the bridge for her quarters, she has never felt more secure of her place in the galaxy.

Her cabin is spacious even by non-travel standards. She has splurged for faux-wood floors that clack satisfyingly beneath her hooves. The cabin is split between a kitchenette and an office/bedroom. The construction gives her quarters the real sense of being a home and not a cube in a spaceship. She makes herself a cup of tea and a soothing smell fills the kitchenette. She thinks of nothing as her body relaxes. Her mind empties completely, a reflex from decades of meditation studies. The blissful silence drifts back to concrete thought as she considers an itch along her left horn.

Her bed is soft and yields easily as she lays down. She doesn’t consider properly preparing for sleep and keeps her captain uniform on as sleep finds her. She dreams of swimming on Rhah’Fa as a child. Her four legs kick at the lake bed, keeping her afloat. Her ancestors on the shore mime the form for properly treading water and she struggles to emulate them. Eventually she gets the rhythm and moves confidently into the deeper waters. She smiles and giggles like a pup. She garners enough bravery to dunk her entire head beneath the waves and go looking for shells. The pressure builds in her ears as she dives, it almost has a beat to it. It feels almost like the alarm-

The klaxons of the foreship are blaring in her cabin. Emergency lights are flashing and she can hear the first-mate trying to talk to her over the PA, “Captain, unexpected asteroid in path! What are your orders? We can’t steer out of the way in time!”

Yh’Rnih is barely awake yet, she needs to do her waking mediations. “What? We can’t leave warp! Turn hard and tell the tugs to pull tighter to the Sunset.” She steadies herself and makes her way into the hallway.

The PA message from the first-mate follows her, “Captain, it’s too close! We have to drop warp!”

Yh’Rnih is running now, racing to get her bridge in order. Crewmen are panicking and running to muster stations. Perhaps letting the ghost-stories run through the crew was a bad idea. She yells at her first mate as she bursts into the bridge, “Then drop warp, dammit! Just be ready to jump right back in. I don’t want us caught out in the middle of nowhere!”

The helmsman begins the process of emergency warp-engine shut-off. Yh’Rnih pulls up the caravan comms so she can address each ship all at once. “Unexpected asteroid on our flight path. We’re dropping warp momentarily so we can readjust and avoid collision.” The warp engine’s hum slows and then drops in intensity until it is silent. The comforting thrum is gone. The beige streaks of warp space dissipate to reveal the reality of deep space.

A new set of alarms fills her ears. The first-mate reports her worst fears, pirates. The asteroid ahead was not but a cloud of fluorescent dust spread across several cubic kilometers. A dozen heat signatures of pirate ships are detected and they’re already moving toward them. Yh’Rnih barely hears the panicked shouts of her first-mate. They’re caught out in the open, too far from the nearest port. No distress signal would reach anyone in time. The Foreship has no weapons. They’re completely at the mercy of the pirates.

The first-mate’s shouts get through, “They’re hailing us, captain! What do I do?” Yh’Rnih looks at her caravan traffic read-out. Leaving warp so suddenly has spread out the ships. Even if they returned to warp immediately, they’d lose a third of the caravan at least.

“Navigator Ihf! Time until new course plotting?” The young navigator is looking frantically between four different screens, tapping occasionally while she does math out loud.

“Safe route in 30 minutes, unsafe in 25,” the navigator replies.

Captain Yh’Rnih lets out an angry growl. “First-mate Vahm, hail the pirates and send them a doctored manifest. Just the names of the ships, and wrong estimates of cargo.” The first-mate steels himself and calls the pirates back. Yh’Rnih turns to the next thing needing her attention. “Helmsman Ghik, get that warp engine back online and get us moving. The second navigation has an unsafe course, I want us at lightspeed.” Her bridge crew set to their tasks, surer now than they were a moment ago. “And someone turn off the damn klaxons!”

The flashing lights and alarms stop. Yh’Rnih has a few precious moments to think. 25 minutes was a small window but the pirates would be on them sooner than that. The doctored manifest might send them after the large haulers and buy the rest time. That was a cruel move on her part, no getting around that. She sent new position orders to all the caravan ships.

The more agile ships had already placed themselves directly behind the Swift Green Sunet. One of the cargo haulers was caught far from safe distance. Already, Yh’Rnih could see the pirate small-ships heading for it. It’s a good sign for the caravan but not the hauler. If the pirates were enterprising they’d head straight for the Swift Green Sunset. A trio of pirate frigates are encircling the hauler and the ship nearby. A medium sized passenger skiff is lagging behind with the cargo hauler, moving slower than it should.

Yh’Rnih takes a moment to look at the pirate ships. The IFF tells her they’re of Duoro make. The paint marks are symbols for slaver clans. She curses beneath her breath. Most of the caravan had noticed the pirates. The smaller tugs are getting dangerously close to each other as they panic. She sends a message out, “All ship crashes will be left behind.” The medium skiff is still lagging behind next to the cargo hauler. She pulls up its name on the manifest. Grassland At Dawn, It’s a passenger skiff, human refugees heading home. “What are you doing,” she whispers to herself.

The Grassland at Dawn isn’t just drifting now. It’s deliberately heading in the direction of the pirates, pulling away from the cargo hauler that had been their initial target. Yh’Rnih sends it a traffic message, “No room for heroes. You engage and you are being left behind.” She waits for a response but the skiff keeps heading in the direction of the pirates. Finally it replies, “Understood. Farewell.”

Captain Yh’Rnih slams her hands down on her console. A few crew members look to her in shock. She gives them all an angry eye and they shy back to their work. She tries one last message to put some sanity in their small primate skulls “Humans, return to safe distance or you will be left to the pirates.” There is no reply.

By now the pirate ships have shifted their focus to the Grassland. Three leading frigates from the pirate fleet surround the skiff. The Sunset’s computer flashes a warning of active tracking being engaged on the Grassland. Soon, a docking tube extends from the largest pirate frigate and clamps onto the skiff. Yh’Rnih sends one last message to the humans, “Stars go with you.”

A pirate voice on the first-mate’s comms instructs the caravan to separate a dozen or so ships from the whole. The pirates are asking for an offering in exchange for the whole caravan. Yh’Rnih instructs him to continue stalling. She points at the navigator and she responds, “Sixteen minutes!” Before she can point at the helmsman he barks, “Warp engine will be ready on your command!” Yh’Rnih eyes the traffic readout nervously. A handful of personal tugs and the cargo haulers are all that’s left outside safe distance. She keeps her eyes locked onto the console as it counts up each ship inside the potential warp field.

A ping from the alert monitor diverts her attention. The computer is blaring about an explosion near the Grassland at Dawn. She examines the readout more closely and sees a pirate frigate is leaking vacuum. She pulls up a rear-facing camera on the Sunset to get a closer look. The image clears up just as a second explosion cracks the spine of another of the frigates. Yh’Rnih zooms in to check if the small skiff is hiding guns but manages to see in real time as the pirate frigate it is docked to fires into its own fellows yet again.

The docking clamp on the human skiff retracts as the pirate ship opens its guns into the nearby frigates. The two other ships that had surrounded the human skiff do not have time to respond as their engines and reactors explode. Remarkably in all this, the Grassland at Dawn quietly pulls away and reorients itself toward the caravan.

“Did they just hijack a pirate ship?” Captain Yh’Rnih asks under her breath. She flips off the rear camera and pulls up the fleet tracking for the remaining pirates. There are 7 light frigates and 2 repurposed cargo ships, presumably to hold any ill-gotten gains. If they’ve noticed the hijacked frigate they don’t seem to be taking it seriously. An attack group of five frigates is still moving head-first towards the caravan. Yh’Rnih sends a message to the Grassland at Dawn, “Grassland, what just happened? Please respond.”

The human ship does not respond for three minutes. “Sunset, this is Grassland. Captain Corin and a small crew have departed and wish to convey that the Caravan should not wait for them.” Yh’Rnih looks up from her console to see that a small crowd of her bridge crew have stopped to watch the exchange. She is clenching the edges of her console with white knuckle intensity.

“Navigator!” Yh’Rnih yells out.

“Ten minutes, captain.”

Yh’Rnih turns her head like a whip to her idle crew that have been watching her. “What are you looking at? We have a whole damn caravan to ready.” She taps on her console to see the number of ships within safe distance. There are only 13 still outside, the large cargo hauler and the Grassland among them. She sends a brief message to them all, “Five minutes.”

Curiosity takes her and she can’t help but look at the read-out for the pirate fleet. The hijacked frigate has closed the distance between the caravan and the leading 5 pirate frigates. Multiple alerts come from the computer as it detects energy spikes and explosions, likely rail-guns firing. She manages to find a camera with good enough sight lines and focuses it in on the action. The hijacked frigate is small, maybe three decks in total. Taking it over would’ve been brutal but they likely only needed the bridge. The humans are fighting recklessly. They close gaps no sane pilot would attempt. Debris fields erupt in the space between the ships. Yh’Rnih sees the familiar signs of micro-projectile impacts. Atmosphere erupts from four of the pirate ships.

An affirmative sounding ding comes from her console to inform her that every ship in the caravan is now within safe warp distance. She asks her helmsman, “Status on engines?”

He responds, “Ready on command, captain. Waiting for course.”

Navigator Ihf doesn’t need to be asked and replies so the whole bridge can hear, “Five minutes until unsafe course is ready.”

“We’re taking it,” the Captain announces to her crew. An unsafe charting means possible debris interference. The forward shield will be stressed, possibly near redline. The likelihood of impacts on the Sunset is high.

She returns again to the camera facing the oncoming pirates. The pirates have completely abandoned the dream of intercepting the caravan. Two pirate ships have been immobilized, their engines and atmosphere leaking incredibly. The hijacked frigate is limping along, barely making a show of it. Where they are unable to maneuver, they fire wildly. Explosions impact two more frigates, breaking the hull. The hijacked ship is a victim of its own chaos. A chunk of debris slices through their hull, disconnecting the engines from the bridge. Fires ignite the evacuating atmosphere. The fires puff out as quickly as they start.

When she believes the carnage to be over, another frigate manages to turn its guns on what’s left of the hijacked ship. In an instant, the bridge, and the humans within, are turned to chaff. The rear of the pirate fleet is mostly unharmed but an expanding debris cloud sits between them and the caravan. The ship at the head of their formation fires in anger, a few rounds get past the debris and come close to striking the Sunset. Navigator Ihf shouts, “Ready!” and helmsman Ghik brings the ship into warp before being asked to.

The familiar shudder of the warp engine finally firing permeates the Swift Green Sunet once again. The stars are swept away and replaced by the all-encompassing beige of warp space. The caravan has re-enterred its own little universe once again. The traffic control system alerts the captain that 24 tugs are too close to one another. She foregoes a stern message and simply relays position assignments. The caravan ships relax, pulling away from one another, filling the warp bubble. Yh’Rnih needs them spaced out if any debris makes it past the shield.

She surveys her bridge crew and witnesses a few of them congratulating Ihf or patting each other on the back. She breathes a sigh of relief. A few dozen alerts remain on the console, a variety of issues still left to be addressed. Stress induced from dramatically dropping and returning to warp speed. The Sunset was not as young as it used to be.

Captain Yh’Rnih sent a message to the Grassland at Dawn, “My condolences to your crew, humans.”

The reply was swift this time, “It was their honor, Sunset.”

Back on his own tug, Kallton is going over his own read-outs of the excitement. He's dumbstruck. All his genetic reports couldn't have told him how the humans would have acted. He will need more information. He pings a request to the Sunset for an informational uplink. It will cost him a tidy sum for the data access. There's something to these humans that a century of Imperium propaganda and genetics reports can't tell him.

Something in the humans has captured the attention of Kallton's Imperial life-form. He will find what that thing is, and if he can, he will protect it.

#writing #writblr #hfy #sci fi #Tales from Terra #Survivors of Terra #cw: death

2 notes · View notes

k00297370 · 2 months

Text

Movement Project - Painting

Since Thursday I have been working on a painting consisting of 4 different scenes of different times of the day referenced from photos I have taken myself in my garden over a fence.

I decided to do this since I had gained inspiration and new techniques from the painting elective I attended last week and the week before.

I also researched the artist Claude Monet and discovered his painting series of the Rouen Cathedral which heavily inspired me on creating this piece to further convey my theme of the movement of light.

I started by gathering the reference photos and choosing the four that I were going to use. Then I divided the paper into four equal sections similar to the thumbnails I made in the Graphic Design elective during week 1.

I painted the top left scene first which depicts sunrise, then the top right which depicts mid day, bottom right : sunset and bottom left : nighttime.

I chose to paint this as I wanted to illustrate the movement of the sun and show its effect on the environment and its appearance, how it changes the colour not only of the sky but of manmade structures too in this case the fence. The suns routine is generally the same everyday yet its impact on the sky’s appearance is always different and unique in comparison to the day before.

Overall im happy with the finished product, the layout of each scene highlights the contrast in colours.

2 notes · View notes

chungledown-bimothy · 5 months

Note

ALSO 1 21 27 45

ALSO!

1. What are three shows in your watchlist that you’ve been meaning to get to?

This one's actually really difficult, bc my memory is absolutely awful. But I'd say Smash, season 2 of Heartstopper, and in a less traditional sense of show, DesiQuest

21. What’s your favorite period in art history, your favorite famous work and/or your favorite style of art? If you don’t know any that’s ok!

My favorite style of art is far and away impressionism. (forgive my uninformed language in talking about it) I think the best way to show why I love it so much is looking at Monet's two different depictions of the Rouen Cathedral from basically the same angle at different times of day, sunset and morning. The light and shadows feel so real and the avoidance of true blacks makes it feel warm and alive, but the brush strokes make it feel like I'm there in a dream. Also, I'm always a slut for impasto, which was very common.

27. Do you have any keychains on your home or car keys? Describe them!

Nope, my keys are very boring lol

45. Do you have good handwriting?

5 notes · View notes

mscoyditch · 4 months

Text

"The Pont Boieldieu, Rouen. Sunset". 1896.

By Camille Pissarro. French. 1830-1903.

> random-brushstrokes

0 notes

ukdamo · 6 months

Text

Rouen

May Wedderburn Cannan

April 26—May 25, 1915

Early morning over Rouen, hopeful, high, courageous morning, And the laughter of adventure, and the steepness of the stair, And the dawn across the river, and the wind across the bridges, And the empty littered station, and the tired people there.

Can you recall those mornings, and the hurry of awakening, And the long-forgotten wonder if we should miss the way, And the unfamiliar faces, and the coming of provisions, And the freshness and the glory of the labour of the day.

Hot noontide over Rouen, and the sun upon the city, Sun and dust unceasing, and the glare of cloudless skies, And the voices of the Indians and the endless stream of soldiers, And the clicking of the tatties, and the buzzing of the flies.

Can you recall those noontides and the reek of steam and coffee, Heavy-laden noontides with the evening’s peace to win, And the little piles of Woodbines, and the sticky soda bottles, And the crushes in the “Parlour”, and the letters coming in?

Quiet night-time over Rouen, and the station full of soldiers, All the youth and pride of England from the ends of all the earth; And the rifles piled together, and the creaking of the sword-belts, And the faces bent above them, and the gay, heart-breaking mirth.

Can I forget the passage from the cool white-bedded Aid Post Past the long sun-blistered coaches of the khaki Red Cross train To the truck train full of wounded, and the weariness and laughter And “Good-bye, and thank you, Sister”, and the empty yards again?

Can you recall the parcels that we made them for the railroad, Crammed and bulging parcels held together by their string, And the voices of the sergeants who called the Drafts together, And the agony and splendour when they stood to save the King?

Can you forget their passing, the cheering and the waving, The little group of people at the doorway of the shed, The sudden awful silence when the last train swung to darkness, And the lonely desolation, and the mocking stars o’erhead?

Can you recall the midnights, and the footsteps of night watchers, Men who came from darkness and went back to dark again, And the shadows on the rail-lines and the all inglorious labour, And the promise of the daylight firing blue the window- pane?

Can you recall the passing through the kitchen door to morning, Morning very still and solemn breaking slowly on the town, And the early coastways engines that had met the ships at daybreak, And the Drafts just out from England, and the day shift coming down?

Can you forget returning slowly, stumbling on the cobbles, And the white-decked Red Cross barges dropping seawards for the tide, And the search for English papers, and the blessed cool, of water, And the peace of half-closed shutters that shut out the world outside?

Can I forget the evenings and the sunsets on the island, And the tall black ships at anchor far below our balcony, And the distant call of bugles, and the white wine in the glasses, And the long line of the street lamps, stretching Eastwards to the sea?

When the world slips slow to darkness, when the office fire burns lower, My heart goes out to Rouen, Rouen all the world away; When other men remember, I remember our Adventure And the trains that go from Rouen at the ending of the day.

#poetry #May Wedderburn Cannan #rouen #WWI #British Army

1 note · View note

meandrose · 2 years

Photo

Destroyed the poetry of Rome

From this point of view, it cannot be denied that the recent changes which have destroyed the poetry of Rome have greatly enlarged its antiquarian interest. What the poet and the painter have lost the historian has gained. Regarded as a museum of archaeology, the city is far richer to the student. And that not merely by multiplication of remains, statues, and carvings, similar to what we had, but by new discoveries which have modified our knowledge of the history of the city.

The continually growing mass of pre-historic relics, the Etruscan tombs and foundations on the Aventine and the Esquiline, the early fortifications of the Palatine, the remains of regal Rome, the systematic exploration of the Forum and the Palatine, the house of the vestals, the contents of the Kircher Museum, and of the new Museum in the baths of Diocletian, the excavation of the Colosseum, and of the palace of Nero, the complete tracing of the Servian circumvallation, and all that has been done to reopen cemeteries and tombs — have given a new range and distinctness to the history of Rome as a whole.

We must now extend that history backwards by centuries before the mythical age of Romulus and his tribesmen on the Palatine; and we know that somewhere on the Seven Hills there once dwelt one of the most ancient prehistoric races of Europe. Even the speculative builder and the hated railroads have enriched the museums and opened unexpected treasured to the antiquarian. One is forced to confess that to historical research new fields have been opened, even whilst the unique vision of the Eternal City faded away as quickly as a winter sunset. The Caesars found Rome of brick, and left it of marble. The House of Savoy found it a majestic ruin; they have made it an inexhaustible museum coastal bulgaria holidays.

Middle Ages

Compare Rome with other famous cities, which far surpass it in mediaeval associations — with Florence, Venice, Rouen, Oxford, Prague. They present at most four or five centuries of the Middle Ages with vivid power and charm: but this is only one chapter in the history of Rome. Athens, Constantinople, Venice, are more beautiful. And if Constantinople surpasses Rome in the dramatic contrast of Asia and Europe, and the secular combat between the East and the West, Byzantium was but a late imitation of Rome, and the tremendous scenes which the Bosphorus has witnessed seem but episodes when compared with the long annals of the Tiber.

Constantinople, indeed, was a Rome transported bodily to the East. Paris and London certainly surpass Rome in that they record a thousand years of the destiny of nations still growing, and that we can hear in their streets the surging of a mighty life to which that of Rome is now a poor provincial copy. But the thousand years of Paris and of London are but a span in the countless years of the Eternal City. All roads lead to Rome: all capitals aim at reviving the image and effect of the Imperial City: all history ends with Rome, or begins with Rome.

#Destroyed the poetry of Rome

0 notes

bgtraveldays · 2 years

Photo