Royal Albert Shed

https://justin-farrimond.pixels.com/featured/royal-albert-shed-justin-farrimond.html

The 'eyes' of this rural outbuilding caught my attention. They seem to be squinting in the bright sunshine.
No idea what the building is but I'm sure it's very important.
The Royal Albert Shed.

#PhotoOfTheDay #FilmPhotography #Photography #Art #Print #BlackAndWhite #Rural #Summertime #35mm

Black Pond and Beseck Mountain from Mount Higby, Mattabesett Trail, Middlefield, Connecticut, June 3, 2024, 5:47 PM.

#hiking #photography #outdoors #landscapephotography #nature #Connecticut #summer #forest #mountain #lake #summertime

Sommerabend in #Köln.

#cologne #pollerwiesen #StreetPhotography #urbanphotography #summertime

testimony of summer nights, of cherry tarts

summertime makes one believe in god, the way one believes in a perfect slice of cherry tart, in the way it’s heaped up with the sweet cream, rivaling the sour of the cherry, the sweet bite of existence that hides in the crust, the way the unhappy look for something to believe in, whether it’s in a golden and white sunset, burnt and scarred, ready for nighttime, or the sharp of an empty liquor bottle; 

there’s no such thing as a perfect slice of cherry tart, the cream melts like all the lies in your mouth, the sour stings you as you listen to him talk about the damned Red Sox game again, the summer mornings taste like bruises, red and blue with the pain of nothingness that stretches out infernally, nesting in your bones, during the dryness of heat waves, when the cherries rot on the counter from days of looking at them and opening the freezer for an ice cream cone instead; 

burning, burning, burning, the days sizzle against your skin like the metal of a hot pie dish, fresh from the oven, smoke billowing through the kitchen like a homemade tragedy that makes you want to stop believing, but you do anyway, because you need it, everyone needs it, the way you need to say I love you back even when you don’t mean it, or tell your friend in the hospital that everything will be okay after all. 

the perfect, unbearable weather of the nightmare summer hotness drives you mad; it makes you cry and scream and curse the cherries for their siren redness, their crimson skins that hide blood under them, the dry, flaky crust that falls away like so many friendships where you had to have the last word, the never-ending guilt of pathos, of a smile too wide that sets on the brink of the sun; torchlight red on sweaty faces.

yes, there is a wonderland, not because there has to be, but because it’s owed to us, because none of us got the childhood we wanted, the generation that’s supposed to save everyone, the new rebels with our tinfoil armor and the strength we earned from not killing ourselves, that can romanticize anything, that talks about washing dishes and playing the piano like they’re love languages, that are so lonely, starved for love the way a cherry aches to be picked that we’ll do anything, just about anything to find something to hold onto, waiting for our lives to begin; 

summer passes by lazily like flower petals floating down a river, where the sun sets at nine pm and laughter sounds louder, you pick and choose the parts you want, the lives you’ll lead, the hearts you’ll break, the way you pick out the sour cherries on your slice, the way you were the last one eaten on the dodgeball team back at the YMCA, the way you still carry that rejection in your heart, clinging to it tightly like the seatbelt in a catapulting car, spinning out of control in a blur of red and chrome; 

the crisscross of pastry has you in a chokehold, like all your lies and secrets and your dreadful thoughts, wishing the days were shorter and the nights were longer, because the summer sun burns too bright and too hard, wishing you weren’t as lonely and ashamed as you were, of how thin and threadbare your life was, or the crumbling flakes of dough that peels off your skin, cracking the person you had built up so carefully over the years, retreating in the burning glow of the oven; 

surely June is the cruelest month, with its blood red sun that wears itself out like a song played too many times, where the cherry orchard burns to root, where the hot rain pours down your face like acidic memories that uncurl like watercolor in your veins, you think about all the ways there are to die and are amazed at life, at how dogs play in the streets, how some people sing without being told to, how god exists in the red of the cherry juice that dribbles down your chin, in a home that stopped being home a long time ago; where goodbyes taste like rotting fruit in your mouth, in the pit of your stomach, leaving a hunger that can’t be filled, not with whiskey or storybooks or cough syrup or lilac skies or white bedsheets; 

you ache to better, a drop of vanilla in a dish of flour, to open your arms a little wider and forgive yourself more often, and answer friends when they call you, little streams of black running against the pure of white, sweet with the longing for togetherness, searching for a little hope, a little space to call your own on this ceramic of reality; 

the whipped cream lets out a long sigh as it drips down the edge of a fork, poised in midair, ready for a bite that would never come, a god that turned away from its children. 

Ball of fire July sunset, New Britain Reservoir, Southington, Connecticut. July 20, 2020, 7:57 PM.

#hiking #photography #outdoors #landscapephotography #nature #Connecticut #summer #forest #sunset #sunsetphotography #trail #lake #summertime