Placeholder: Haiku: Le bruit de l’eau, froid, Éclabousse sur les rochers; Les poissons s’enfuient. Haiku: Le bruit de l’eau, froid, Éclabousse sur les rochers; Les poissons s’enfuient.

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@generalpha

Prompt

Haiku: Le bruit de l’eau, froid, Éclabousse sur les rochers; Les poissons s’enfuient.

2 months ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

832 × 1248

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Le bruit de l’eau, froid, Éclabousse sur les rochers; Les poissons s’enfuient.
[Renaissance, a Sir, a pond] Who was I? Where was I?… The landscape was totally unknown to me, even my body was unfamiliar. What forces brought me here? I searched my mind for memories… There was something there, but it was too clouded… A name… I scanned the horizon. A distant structure rose out of the mists. As evening approached I came upon an enigmatic oasis with a fountain.
Behind, the plates and pins bear witness like the trees of older groves. But you pay them no more mind than the motors' hums and grunts, eyes only for the vision in your thrall. And me, pressed flat against the mirrored wall with lens a-flutter - sure I'll leave an outlined ghost upon the fogged glass if I don't find release soon! Each calculated step brings your heat skating nearer, bare soles padding o'er rubber worn smooth by countless trials. The tile's your stage, this steam your shroud, an
My quickened sense can only plod. Imagination waves its rod, My spirit burns with lightning splendor, Emotive faith tastes the bread of God. As moves the wind on sightless wings, Nor shadow o'er the landscape flings, While seas to chafe of foam are beaten, And plectrum sweeps all the forest strings; So through the world doth Spirit move, And presence by His working prove,— A mystery of might and music, A lonelihood of eternal love.
In the background, we shall paint a swirling sea of forgotten photographs, lost in the vast expanse of time. These images, once cherished and significant, now find themselves adrift, waiting to be rediscovered. They represent the vast well of historical knowledge that feeds into the formation of collective memory, their faded colors and aged textures hinting at the passage of time.And finally, to capture the essence of this paradox, let us add a figure, a silhouette of a person with outstretched
Historical craniometric studies found that the Beaker people appeared to be of a different physical type than those earlier populations in the same geographic areas. They were described as tall, heavy boned and brachycephalic. The early studies on the Beakers which were based on the analysis of their skeletal remains, were craniometric. This apparent evidence of migration was in line with archaeological discoveries linking Beaker culture to new farming techniques, mortuary practices, copper-work
This is amazing! I love how the light glints off everything, giving stark contrast to the shadows. There must be some deer or elk up ahead since the horse has his ears perked forward and with an intent gaze of interest. The young lady looks like she is enjoying herself alone with her friend while plodding downstream through the lazy creek. Thank you for sharing. Beautiful artwork!(1842-1903) With her weathered boots and a heart filled with wanderlust, Isabella "Wildflower" roamed the untamed fr
Reflections Beneath Eternity's Shroud By this steadfast bough where Fiona finds safe harbor, thoughts stir moonstruck as the soul within weaves memories of glades enraptured by her luminescence. From steel shell peels away to bare the woodland heart remembering those who awaken wonder's gifts in all things great and small. May forest's balm ease each tomorrow as Her grace guides wanderings under moon and stars revealing in each breath mysteries to nourish mortal and machine.
Le bruit de l’eau, froid, Éclabousse sur les rochers; Les poissons s’enfuient.
Darkness fell as they entered the looming marshes. Mist curled around twisted trees like spectral fingers. Alex shivered, every cracked branch an impending threat. A piercing cry shattered the eerie quiet. They raced toward the sound, emerging in a small clearing. There, suspended above a foggy pool, hung Mikołaj - tiny fists beating futilely against thin air. Below, hulking Spas clawed his way from the water, face twisted in hunger. But Alex saw only her prey: the demon who tormented her mother
The chills that you spill up my back keep me filled With satisfaction when we're done Satisfaction of what's to come I couldn't ask for another No, I couldn't ask for another (You know that's right) Your groove I do deeply dig No walls, only the bridge My supper dish, my succotash wish (Sing it, baby) I couldn't ask for another (Uh huh, uh huh) No, I couldn't ask for another
[photo by Helmut Newton] Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting. Then nothing. The weak sun flickered over the dry surface. It is terrible to survive as consciousness buried in the dark earth. Then it was over: that which you fear, being a soul and unable
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