The winter tree
A cold and dark afternoon, the sun being behind clouds in the west. The landscape is barren of objects, the trees being leafless, and so little light in the sky for variety. Such a day as will almost oblige a man to eat his own heart. A day in which you must hold on to life by your teeth. You can hardly ruck up any skin on Nature’s bones. The sap is down; she won’t peel. Now is the time to cut timber for yokes and ox-bows, leaving the tough bark on,—yokes for your own neck. Finding yourself yoked to Matter and to Time. Not a mosquito left. Not an insect to hum. Crickets gone into winter quarters. Friends long since gone there, and you left to walk on frozen ground, with your hands in your pockets. Ah, but is not this a time for deep inward fires?
Henry David Thoreau
place, nature, landscape
Hard to know where to start with this but Google have taken on the massive task of putting Life Magazine's considerable photograph archive online. There's a bewildering array of topics but it's a fascinating project with some dazzling photographs, from the American Civil War to Vietnam.
Also: I could probably post for another 91 years and not manage to link Joe Frazier and celebrations in London at the end of the First World War...
The End of World War I