Spo's photos with the keyword: ciel

As much as I've always enjoyed calendar autumns - the disappearing of excessive light and the dissipation of the numbing heat, the amazement of wearing clothes again - just as much I have always hated the mental autumn , the idea that slowly but inevitably, everything around us starts to wither and die, and that there is nothing I can do about it. The magnitude of this annihilation falls heavy on me, every year. In this annulment, progress gets too deeply buried – but not quite. That year, the fall fell to a full halt in one long and incessant, unscrupulous slide, starting right here, with the taking of this picture. The smell of the void is already there, you can almost feel the land standing still inside of it in the thin and limpid air, timidly waiting for the permafrost. Golden birds have flown home, the only movement left is the darting of the clouds – the passage of days, swift as arrows. So, you may imagine my astonishment when I found the tree – in Google Maps. Without the tree I would have never, ever been able to place the picture on the map, not even close – I would have put it much further south, away from Ylläs. But then again, this is wide angle. This is with many calendar autumns passed. View to the west towards Ylläs from Lainiotie 301.

Night falls and slight mist rises from the yet warm fields.

Sun finally set behind the barn. In these latitudes the sun mainly moves sideways, so it took quite some time to go .

In addition to Ursa Major and Minor, there were earthly ursi around as well that night, we were told. Vertical lights near the horizon came from Area 51, where t-h-e-y were having their nightly drill. He-he. Without a tripod I had to place my camera on whatever solid things I found (read: stumbled on) on the ground, so I could not quite get the framing I wanted. Thanks Joan+ for the title.

For an urbanist like me, a night in the countyside is definitely an experience. It can be quite scary too: when you go out, it is so pitch black first that you cannot see your own hands. That night we had the stars: after many rainy days the sun had managed to peek just before the sunset, but I was totally unaware of the spectacle waiting for me up there when I first went out after dark. I think I actually cried out loud in astonishment at the stairs, me, who had not seen the full Big Dipper in decades. The awe was not diminished by the grandpa from the neigborhood, who had just told us that they had seen a bear with two clubs out there. It was ursa all over the place! If you look closely, there are other kinds of trespassers in the sky.