tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16294949093084993312024-03-13T15:21:46.269+00:00Around the World - Postcrossing...through PostcrossingAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-17301565699990602922015-04-29T15:25:00.003+01:002015-04-29T15:25:39.162+01:00 Castelo de Wernigerode / Wernigerode Castle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8I3mySDb-uY/VUDpynlm88I/AAAAAAAABeg/_JQl6Cs-3O8/s1600/DE-4166295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8I3mySDb-uY/VUDpynlm88I/AAAAAAAABeg/_JQl6Cs-3O8/s1600/DE-4166295.jpg" height="400" width="282" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zs9VwuLzCSM/VUDpyf2ylzI/AAAAAAAABec/rf1NWboS7CI/s1600/DE-4166295_Stamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zs9VwuLzCSM/VUDpyf2ylzI/AAAAAAAABec/rf1NWboS7CI/s1600/DE-4166295_Stamp.jpg" height="146" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-2877927537569082472013-08-08T10:05:00.000+01:002013-08-08T10:05:03.823+01:00Ponte 25 de Abril parte II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VfsPsP1Iwk0/UgNcXW9vZRI/AAAAAAAABY4/zjem3qRmBdo/s1600/22+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VfsPsP1Iwk0/UgNcXW9vZRI/AAAAAAAABY4/zjem3qRmBdo/s640/22+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One).jpg" width="446" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--cnVlzHDwQg/UgNejtYR6KI/AAAAAAAABZI/NBcdTbgaCy8/s1600/28+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One)+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--cnVlzHDwQg/UgNejtYR6KI/AAAAAAAABZI/NBcdTbgaCy8/s320/28+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One)+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ponte 25 de Abril, ponte sobre o rio Tejo, Lisboa pelo fotógrafo Carlos Lemos tirada em 1997.<br />
Enviado pelo Zé :)<br />
A frase que acertei no jogo:<br />
<br />
<span class="mediumtxt">"Não é tão comum morrer de amor, mas, neste momento, em todas as partes do mundo, milhões morrem por falta dele.”<br />
<br />
Do James Baldwin</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-80049105077140943582013-08-06T10:05:00.000+01:002013-08-08T10:11:28.641+01:00À janela...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uj7HEDLCNkg/UgNfmipZ3kI/AAAAAAAABZY/I85XO0mubgI/s1600/27+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="444" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uj7HEDLCNkg/UgNfmipZ3kI/AAAAAAAABZY/I85XO0mubgI/s640/27+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One).jpg" width="640" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-al59ZioxBbw/UgNgFM05WmI/AAAAAAAABZg/AGL91KxwN5o/s1600/27+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One)+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-al59ZioxBbw/UgNgFM05WmI/AAAAAAAABZg/AGL91KxwN5o/s320/27+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One)+Selo.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>
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"Azulejos" - Fachada do século XX.<br />
Enviado pelo Zé :)<br />
A frase que acertei no jogo:<br />
<br />
"<span class="mediumtxt">A mulher não deve ser abraçada frouxamente, para
que não escape, nem muito apertada para não sufocá-la, mas
suficientemente forte para não perdê-la.
</span>"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-54903575700118780882013-07-31T10:14:00.000+01:002013-08-08T10:15:20.788+01:00Arco da Vila<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1U_994q5AGc/UgNhSTD17-I/AAAAAAAABZ4/mTGKl_a3nKs/s1600/26+PS+-+Gracinha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="450" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1U_994q5AGc/UgNhSTD17-I/AAAAAAAABZ4/mTGKl_a3nKs/s640/26+PS+-+Gracinha.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IZGiMZgzBxY/UgNhRp6HWRI/AAAAAAAABZw/Imnmux9fS0U/s1600/26+PS+-+Gracinha++(Selo).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IZGiMZgzBxY/UgNhRp6HWRI/AAAAAAAABZw/Imnmux9fS0U/s320/26+PS+-+Gracinha++(Selo).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Postal vindo directamente dos Algarves, gentileza da Gracinha :)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-52778470834799372842013-07-23T10:20:00.000+01:002013-08-08T10:23:47.638+01:00Moinho de Vento<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YIll3D0ZxbQ/UgNi2OzOaXI/AAAAAAAABaQ/8xDFOGKxA2o/s1600/25+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YIll3D0ZxbQ/UgNi2OzOaXI/AAAAAAAABaQ/8xDFOGKxA2o/s640/25+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One).jpg" width="444" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3_TipfYk0cc/UgNizmRv_WI/AAAAAAAABaI/BqzCwTWZ5MY/s1600/25+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One)+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3_TipfYk0cc/UgNizmRv_WI/AAAAAAAABaI/BqzCwTWZ5MY/s320/25+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One)+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Moinho de Vento, em Ribamar - Mafra.<br />
Enviado pelo Zé.<br />
A frase deslindada em conjunto foi:<br />
<span class="mediumtxt">"Penso que a amizade é um reconhecimento
instantâneo-uma espécie de amor. Basta apenas uma palavra de passagem,
um toque da mão - Contudo, o
afastamento já é uma perda e fica sempre connosco uma certa mágoa."</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-87389083454997225092013-07-23T10:00:00.000+01:002013-08-08T10:28:12.081+01:00Coimbra com sabor a torta de Laranja :)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TJapP9UL82g/UgNkKi0JTdI/AAAAAAAABao/F88BbJ_hu4o/s1600/24+PS+-+Eduardo+(Ed_Firmo).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="438" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TJapP9UL82g/UgNkKi0JTdI/AAAAAAAABao/F88BbJ_hu4o/s640/24+PS+-+Eduardo+(Ed_Firmo).jpg" width="640" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n3CtdTUfOPA/UgNkQxu-IMI/AAAAAAAABaw/kqaXQTsLsKc/s1600/24+PS+-+Eduardo+(Ed_Firmo)+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n3CtdTUfOPA/UgNkQxu-IMI/AAAAAAAABaw/kqaXQTsLsKc/s320/24+PS+-+Eduardo+(Ed_Firmo)+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Mosteiro de Santa Clara a Velha em Coimbra, e receita de torta de Laranja :)</div>
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Enviado pelo Eduardo.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A frase:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="mediumtxt">"Penso que a amizade é um reconhecimento
instantâneo-uma espécie de amor. Basta apenas uma palavra de passagem,
um toque da mão - Contudo, o
afastamento já é uma perda e fica sempre connosco uma certa mágoa."</span> </div>
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-16249534484123863022013-07-11T17:07:00.000+01:002013-07-20T15:53:01.205+01:00The first postcard from Brasil :)<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FKsqTy80Vcg/UeF2OuBLZMI/AAAAAAAAA20/S0br43nGEIg/s1600/1+BR+-+266496.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FKsqTy80Vcg/UeF2OuBLZMI/AAAAAAAAA20/S0br43nGEIg/s400/1+BR+-+266496.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TQbUs8rYgpc/UeF3VVsJJdI/AAAAAAAAA3E/TmB4tbdL450/s1600/1+BR+-+266496+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TQbUs8rYgpc/UeF3VVsJJdI/AAAAAAAAA3E/TmB4tbdL450/s320/1+BR+-+266496+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Campus 2 de São Carlos - Escultura<br />
Instalação que participou na 25ª Bienal de Arte de S. Paulo, composta por sete cones em laminado de madeira, do artista Eduardo Frota</div>
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Campus 2 of San Carlos - Sculpture<br />
Installation that participated in the 25th Biennial of Art S. Paul, composed of seven cones in laminated wood, the artist Eduardo Frota</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-80880353808576138292013-07-11T17:06:00.000+01:002013-07-13T17:06:38.243+01:00A train from Taiwan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EE8Tg2MxlJ4/UeF5iW6oNqI/AAAAAAAAA3c/6ic-fDjxSuc/s1600/6+PS+-+Chang+Lun+Wei.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EE8Tg2MxlJ4/UeF5iW6oNqI/AAAAAAAAA3c/6ic-fDjxSuc/s400/6+PS+-+Chang+Lun+Wei.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bEBT7GVWP7k/UeF5hR_0ZdI/AAAAAAAAA3U/xOBKdZ65gOI/s1600/6+PS+-+Chang+Lun+Wei+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="84" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bEBT7GVWP7k/UeF5hR_0ZdI/AAAAAAAAA3U/xOBKdZ65gOI/s320/6+PS+-+Chang+Lun+Wei+Selo.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div>
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<div id="r1PostCPBlock" style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; left: -99999px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
THE trains dream in the dew for hours outside
The stations, then unmoor, and grate, and glide ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields,
Long caravans of all the country yields;
Those that sleep in the shunting; and the train
Clad with tarpaulin cloak against the rain ...
And trains of bullocks bellowing as they pass
The farm where they were born, and sniff its grass ...
And all grey carriages close shut and warm,
Whose silence glitters through the pelting storm,
With their inscriptions faded, and their cold,
Pale windows ... the surrendered rest they hold ...
Their flickering lanterns when the morning comes ...
And how the sleepy engine puffs and hums!...
A hand runs up the blind, and pulls it back ...
The hamlet where the grass grows by the track ...
The suburbs ... carriages where nothing stirs,
Where you can hear the breath of passengers ...
The blue-veiled lamps that palpitate ... the train
That crosses us and tells us of its pain,
While we in corners brood, and wonder why
We hear it still when it has echoed by ...
And the green halt where you can hear the quails,
With their sad, solitary note ... and rails
Blocked, while a whistle sounds and buffers clash,
And regular signals through the darkness flash ...
Mysterious calls we cannot comprehend ...
And, after being cradled without end
In jolts the listless soul is broken in,
The snorting entrance, with a brazen din,
Of the train bounding onwards as to joys
In the great cities full of buzzing noise!...
And here refracted is the chaste, white beam,
Which led me through the world from dream to dream,
O infinite rails under the moonlight cold,
To whom my heart its bitterness has told
In all the partings unto which it yields ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields.<br />Read more at <a href="http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99" style="color: #003399;">http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99</a></div>
<div id="r1PostCPBlock" style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; left: -99999px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
THE trains dream in the dew for hours outside
The stations, then unmoor, and grate, and glide ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields,
Long caravans of all the country yields;
Those that sleep in the shunting; and the train
Clad with tarpaulin cloak against the rain ...
And trains of bullocks bellowing as they pass
The farm where they were born, and sniff its grass ...
And all grey carriages close shut and warm,
Whose silence glitters through the pelting storm,
With their inscriptions faded, and their cold,
Pale windows ... the surrendered rest they hold ...
Their flickering lanterns when the morning comes ...
And how the sleepy engine puffs and hums!...
A hand runs up the blind, and pulls it back ...
The hamlet where the grass grows by the track ...
The suburbs ... carriages where nothing stirs,
Where you can hear the breath of passengers ...
The blue-veiled lamps that palpitate ... the train
That crosses us and tells us of its pain,
While we in corners brood, and wonder why
We hear it still when it has echoed by ...
And the green halt where you can hear the quails,
With their sad, solitary note ... and rails
Blocked, while a whistle sounds and buffers clash,
And regular signals through the darkness flash ...
Mysterious calls we cannot comprehend ...
And, after being cradled without end
In jolts the listless soul is broken in,
The snorting entrance, with a brazen din,
Of the train bounding onwards as to joys
In the great cities full of buzzing noise!...
And here refracted is the chaste, white beam,
Which led me through the world from dream to dream,
O infinite rails under the moonlight cold,
To whom my heart its bitterness has told
In all the partings unto which it yields ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields.<br />Read more at <a href="http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99" style="color: #003399;">http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99</a></div>
<div id="r1PostCPBlock" style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; left: -99999px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
THE trains dream in the dew for hours outside
The stations, then unmoor, and grate, and glide ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields,
Long caravans of all the country yields;
Those that sleep in the shunting; and the train
Clad with tarpaulin cloak against the rain ...
And trains of bullocks bellowing as they pass
The farm where they were born, and sniff its grass ...
And all grey carriages close shut and warm,
Whose silence glitters through the pelting storm,
With their inscriptions faded, and their cold,
Pale windows ... the surrendered rest they hold ...
Their flickering lanterns when the morning comes ...
And how the sleepy engine puffs and hums!...
A hand runs up the blind, and pulls it back ...
The hamlet where the grass grows by the track ...
The suburbs ... carriages where nothing stirs,
Where you can hear the breath of passengers ...
The blue-veiled lamps that palpitate ... the train
That crosses us and tells us of its pain,
While we in corners brood, and wonder why
We hear it still when it has echoed by ...
And the green halt where you can hear the quails,
With their sad, solitary note ... and rails
Blocked, while a whistle sounds and buffers clash,
And regular signals through the darkness flash ...
Mysterious calls we cannot comprehend ...
And, after being cradled without end
In jolts the listless soul is broken in,
The snorting entrance, with a brazen din,
Of the train bounding onwards as to joys
In the great cities full of buzzing noise!...
And here refracted is the chaste, white beam,
Which led me through the world from dream to dream,
O infinite rails under the moonlight cold,
To whom my heart its bitterness has told
In all the partings unto which it yields ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields.<br />Read more at <a href="http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99" style="color: #003399;">http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99</a></div>
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<h1 itemprop="itemreviewed" style="text-align: center;">
"Just you and me on a train"</h1>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There's nothing quite like sitting on a train<br />
You're wondering what thrills the trip will bring<br />
As countryside rolls past the window pane<br />
And you listen to the songs the wheels sing<br />
<br />
Mountains in the distance travel too<br />
But stations and their towns flash by half seen<br />
In the seat that faces me is you<br />
Smiling at the passing country scene<br />
<br />
Another smile is hidden in my face<br />
It's driven by the thoughts of things to be<br />
The reason that we journey to this place<br />
And also that you're travelling with me<br />
<br />
Adventure on a train has still more charms<br />
You cannot drive your car in lovers arms.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: right;">
By: <a href="http://allpoetry.com/cricketjeff" target="_blank">CricketJeff</a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
From <a href="http://allpoetry.com/poem/3944063-Just_you__and_me_on_a_train-by-cricketjeff" target="_blank">here</a></div>
<br />
<div id="r1PostCPBlock" style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; left: -99999px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
THE trains dream in the dew for hours outside
The stations, then unmoor, and grate, and glide ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields,
Long caravans of all the country yields;
Those that sleep in the shunting; and the train
Clad with tarpaulin cloak against the rain ...
And trains of bullocks bellowing as they pass
The farm where they were born, and sniff its grass ...
And all grey carriages close shut and warm,
Whose silence glitters through the pelting storm,
With their inscriptions faded, and their cold,
Pale windows ... the surrendered rest they hold ...
Their flickering lanterns when the morning comes ...
And how the sleepy engine puffs and hums!...
A hand runs up the blind, and pulls it back ...
The hamlet where the grass grows by the track ...
The suburbs ... carriages where nothing stirs,
Where you can hear the breath of passengers ...
The blue-veiled lamps that palpitate ... the train
That crosses us and tells us of its pain,
While we in corners brood, and wonder why
We hear it still when it has echoed by ...
And the green halt where you can hear the quails,
With their sad, solitary note ... and rails
Blocked, while a whistle sounds and buffers clash,
And regular signals through the darkness flash ...
Mysterious calls we cannot comprehend ...
And, after being cradled without end
In jolts the listless soul is broken in,
The snorting entrance, with a brazen din,
Of the train bounding onwards as to joys
In the great cities full of buzzing noise!...
And here refracted is the chaste, white beam,
Which led me through the world from dream to dream,
O infinite rails under the moonlight cold,
To whom my heart its bitterness has told
In all the partings unto which it yields ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields.<br />Read more at <a href="http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99" style="color: #003399;">http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99</a></div>
<div id="r1PostCPBlock" style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; left: -99999px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
THE trains dream in the dew for hours outside
The stations, then unmoor, and grate, and glide ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields,
Long caravans of all the country yields;
Those that sleep in the shunting; and the train
Clad with tarpaulin cloak against the rain ...
And trains of bullocks bellowing as they pass
The farm where they were born, and sniff its grass ...
And all grey carriages close shut and warm,
Whose silence glitters through the pelting storm,
With their inscriptions faded, and their cold,
Pale windows ... the surrendered rest they hold ...
Their flickering lanterns when the morning comes ...
And how the sleepy engine puffs and hums!...
A hand runs up the blind, and pulls it back ...
The hamlet where the grass grows by the track ...
The suburbs ... carriages where nothing stirs,
Where you can hear the breath of passengers ...
The blue-veiled lamps that palpitate ... the train
That crosses us and tells us of its pain,
While we in corners brood, and wonder why
We hear it still when it has echoed by ...
And the green halt where you can hear the quails,
With their sad, solitary note ... and rails
Blocked, while a whistle sounds and buffers clash,
And regular signals through the darkness flash ...
Mysterious calls we cannot comprehend ...
And, after being cradled without end
In jolts the listless soul is broken in,
The snorting entrance, with a brazen din,
Of the train bounding onwards as to joys
In the great cities full of buzzing noise!...
And here refracted is the chaste, white beam,
Which led me through the world from dream to dream,
O infinite rails under the moonlight cold,
To whom my heart its bitterness has told
In all the partings unto which it yields ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields.<br />Read more at <a href="http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99" style="color: #003399;">http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99</a><div id="r1PostCPBlock" style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; left: -99999px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
THE trains dream in the dew for hours outside
The stations, then unmoor, and grate, and glide ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields,
Long caravans of all the country yields;
Those that sleep in the shunting; and the train
Clad with tarpaulin cloak against the rain ...
And trains of bullocks bellowing as they pass
The farm where they were born, and sniff its grass ...
And all grey carriages close shut and warm,
Whose silence glitters through the pelting storm,
With their inscriptions faded, and their cold,
Pale windows ... the surrendered rest they hold ...
Their flickering lanterns when the morning comes ...
And how the sleepy engine puffs and hums!...
A hand runs up the blind, and pulls it back ...
The hamlet where the grass grows by the track ...
The suburbs ... carriages where nothing stirs,
Where you can hear the breath of passengers ...
The blue-veiled lamps that palpitate ... the train
That crosses us and tells us of its pain,
While we in corners brood, and wonder why
We hear it still when it has echoed by ...
And the green halt where you can hear the quails,
With their sad, solitary note ... and rails
Blocked, while a whistle sounds and buffers clash,
And regular signals through the darkness flash ...
Mysterious calls we cannot comprehend ...
And, after being cradled without end
In jolts the listless soul is broken in,
The snorting entrance, with a brazen din,
Of the train bounding onwards as to joys
In the great cities full of buzzing noise!...
And here refracted is the chaste, white beam,
Which led me through the world from dream to dream,
O infinite rails under the moonlight cold,
To whom my heart its bitterness has told
In all the partings unto which it yields ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields.<br />Read more at <a href="http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99" style="color: #003399;">http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99</a></div>
</div>
<div id="r1PostCPBlock" style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; left: -99999px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
THE trains dream in the dew for hours outside
The stations, then unmoor, and grate, and glide ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields,
Long caravans of all the country yields;
Those that sleep in the shunting; and the train
Clad with tarpaulin cloak against the rain ...
And trains of bullocks bellowing as they pass
The farm where they were born, and sniff its grass ...
And all grey carriages close shut and warm,
Whose silence glitters through the pelting storm,
With their inscriptions faded, and their cold,
Pale windows ... the surrendered rest they hold ...
Their flickering lanterns when the morning comes ...
And how the sleepy engine puffs and hums!...
A hand runs up the blind, and pulls it back ...
The hamlet where the grass grows by the track ...
The suburbs ... carriages where nothing stirs,
Where you can hear the breath of passengers ...
The blue-veiled lamps that palpitate ... the train
That crosses us and tells us of its pain,
While we in corners brood, and wonder why
We hear it still when it has echoed by ...
And the green halt where you can hear the quails,
With their sad, solitary note ... and rails
Blocked, while a whistle sounds and buffers clash,
And regular signals through the darkness flash ...
Mysterious calls we cannot comprehend ...
And, after being cradled without end
In jolts the listless soul is broken in,
The snorting entrance, with a brazen din,
Of the train bounding onwards as to joys
In the great cities full of buzzing noise!...
And here refracted is the chaste, white beam,
Which led me through the world from dream to dream,
O infinite rails under the moonlight cold,
To whom my heart its bitterness has told
In all the partings unto which it yields ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields.<br />Read more at <a href="http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99" style="color: #003399;">http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/trains.html#q2CECRDERM3BTrXu.99</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-24144052077255445652013-07-04T10:31:00.000+01:002013-08-08T10:36:56.133+01:00Ponte 25 de Abril parte I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--jMRdNPj2EE/UgNk9QqqufI/AAAAAAAABa4/ny9iKW9hrqo/s1600/22+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--jMRdNPj2EE/UgNk9QqqufI/AAAAAAAABa4/ny9iKW9hrqo/s640/22+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One).jpg" width="446" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YV4lLBEwVoE/UgNlVIVOomI/AAAAAAAABbA/N8C1sO_drDw/s1600/22+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One)+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YV4lLBEwVoE/UgNlVIVOomI/AAAAAAAABbA/N8C1sO_drDw/s320/22+PS+-+Z%C3%A9+(Pilot_One)+Selo.jpg" width="303" /></a></div>
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Ponte 25 de Abril, ponte sobre o rio Tejo, Lisboa pelo fotógrafo Carlos Lemos tirada em 1997.<br />
O meu primeiro postal por acertar no jogo da Forca, com a frase:<br />
<span class="mediumtxt">"Os desgostos podem tomar conta de si próprios,
mas para tirar todo o partido de uma alegria temos de ter alguém com
quem a partilhar."</span><br />
<span class="mediumtxt">Enviado pelo Zé :) </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-83707524823151958202013-07-02T17:12:00.000+01:002013-07-13T17:12:49.357+01:00Berlin by Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3AGo02OQ4As/UeF8IWiTS5I/AAAAAAAAA3s/B7OpTawXdKQ/s1600/17+DE+-+2268426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3AGo02OQ4As/UeF8IWiTS5I/AAAAAAAAA3s/B7OpTawXdKQ/s400/17+DE+-+2268426.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Berlin by Night</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-63493135318009154612013-07-02T17:01:00.000+01:002013-07-13T17:24:27.263+01:00Fraunkirche - Dresden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mBNahOwG28o/UeF9yNBX0TI/AAAAAAAAA4E/_cTguyP-s9s/s1600/16+DE+-+2268422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mBNahOwG28o/UeF9yNBX0TI/AAAAAAAAA4E/_cTguyP-s9s/s400/16+DE+-+2268422.jpg" width="276" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0VPzrZXJTsQ/UeF9wxX5zYI/AAAAAAAAA4A/JOrIyhJ7aoI/s1600/16+DE+-+2268422+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0VPzrZXJTsQ/UeF9wxX5zYI/AAAAAAAAA4A/JOrIyhJ7aoI/s320/16+DE+-+2268422+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Igreja de Nossa Senhora em Dresden, destruída em 1945, e reconstrúida em 2005. As pedras escuras que se conseguem ver na imagem, são pedras originais.<br />
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Our Lady Church in Dresden, destroyed in 1945 and rebuilt in 2005. The dark stones are original stones.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-5529118871909577092013-07-02T17:00:00.000+01:002013-07-13T17:47:15.969+01:00Night Boat Parade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3pnZiZ_MBzI/UeGEJEbmvHI/AAAAAAAAA48/aj5OjCtZAdE/s1600/15+PS+-+Denny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3pnZiZ_MBzI/UeGEJEbmvHI/AAAAAAAAA48/aj5OjCtZAdE/s400/15+PS+-+Denny.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KZq6HzpO4AM/UeGEH2cznJI/AAAAAAAAA44/aZPhGrzrz3U/s1600/15+PS+-+Denny+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KZq6HzpO4AM/UeGEH2cznJI/AAAAAAAAA44/aZPhGrzrz3U/s1600/15+PS+-+Denny+Selo.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps"><br /></span></span>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">Brühlsche Terrasse.</span></span></div>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">Blick zur katholischen Hofkirche. </span></span></div>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">Nächtliche Dampferparade</span></span></div>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">Brühl's Terrace.</span></span></div>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">L</span></span><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">ooking</span> <span class="hps">to the Catholic</span> <span class="hps">Court Church</span><span class="">.</span></span></div>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class=""><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">Night</span> <span class="hps">boat</span> <span class="hps">parade.</span></span> </span></span></div>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="pt"><span class="hps">Terraço</span> <span class="hps">de</span> <span class="hps">Brühl.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="pt"><span class="hps">Vista para</span></span></span></span><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="pt"><span class="hps"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="pt"><span class="hps"> o</span> <span class="hps">Tribunal da Igreja</span> <span class="hps">Católica.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="pt"><span class="hps"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="pt"><span class="hps">Exibição nocturna de barcos </span></span></span></span> </span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-36784281511401277082013-06-28T17:32:00.000+01:002013-07-13T17:32:41.955+01:00From Dublin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I44yQ79kN54/UeGAk5zTIGI/AAAAAAAAA4c/x5BXz3kZ3m8/s1600/2+IE+-+54704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I44yQ79kN54/UeGAk5zTIGI/AAAAAAAAA4c/x5BXz3kZ3m8/s400/2+IE+-+54704.jpg" width="282" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cP8M59cTEQA/UeGAtKB0nwI/AAAAAAAAA4k/bnyTz7AcDe4/s1600/2+IE+-+54704+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cP8M59cTEQA/UeGAtKB0nwI/AAAAAAAAA4k/bnyTz7AcDe4/s1600/2+IE+-+54704+Selo.jpg" /></a></div>
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The Ha´penny Bridge and river Liffey, Dublin City in Ireland.</div>
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Ponte Ha´penny sobre o rio Liffey, cidade Dublin na Irlanda.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-51403227652072789532013-05-27T12:23:00.000+01:002013-08-23T12:25:31.888+01:00The Lower Fox Creek School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UQ60GWlLkVI/UhdFUpCNoNI/AAAAAAAABbk/Bwtbq09-yMw/s1600/13+US+-+2232603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UQ60GWlLkVI/UhdFUpCNoNI/AAAAAAAABbk/Bwtbq09-yMw/s640/13+US+-+2232603.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c5yPhmZAEQU/UhdFpNunB4I/AAAAAAAABbs/BJ07niOYDak/s1600/13+US+-+2232603+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c5yPhmZAEQU/UhdFpNunB4I/AAAAAAAABbs/BJ07niOYDak/s320/13+US+-+2232603+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Lower Fox Creek School in the Tallgrass Praire National Preserve in Kansas. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-91822449763060444942013-05-23T14:10:00.000+01:002013-08-07T14:11:01.738+01:00Die Dudelband<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d3SObp6dprU/UgJHR_ZlJWI/AAAAAAAABYg/qotPmVkXHHU/s1600/12+DE+-+2183573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d3SObp6dprU/UgJHR_ZlJWI/AAAAAAAABYg/qotPmVkXHHU/s640/12+DE+-+2183573.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Qr5E2CfPRI/UgJHSR1OZfI/AAAAAAAABYk/yW8RxyxyulY/s1600/12+DE+-+2183573+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Qr5E2CfPRI/UgJHSR1OZfI/AAAAAAAABYk/yW8RxyxyulY/s320/12+DE+-+2183573+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-50415083961040451042013-05-22T14:07:00.000+01:002013-08-07T14:08:11.576+01:00Sun Moon Lake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-38UAzMtJSf0/UgJGJYct8mI/AAAAAAAABYQ/PRryYfI57BQ/s1600/5+TW+-+908045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="440" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-38UAzMtJSf0/UgJGJYct8mI/AAAAAAAABYQ/PRryYfI57BQ/s640/5+TW+-+908045.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Usvr3KQBksU/UgJGIoZ6diI/AAAAAAAABYI/2JJtSJdYECk/s1600/5+TW+-+908045+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Usvr3KQBksU/UgJGIoZ6diI/AAAAAAAABYI/2JJtSJdYECk/s320/5+TW+-+908045+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sun Moon Lake, a beautiful lake in the midle part of Taiwan.</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-30350088933041095062013-03-26T12:03:00.000+00:002013-08-07T14:02:38.723+01:00Happy New Chinese year :)<div style="text-align: center;">
Stephanic sent me an happy new Chinese year card, and another great postcards from China :)</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_t9gIrpN3cY/UcWEOeYKTzI/AAAAAAAAAww/fFEmI0-2h-0/s1600/3+PS+-+LR-Stephanic+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_t9gIrpN3cY/UcWEOeYKTzI/AAAAAAAAAww/fFEmI0-2h-0/s400/3+PS+-+LR-Stephanic+(2).jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy New year</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1Kwwk-qj91g/UcWEPuliFII/AAAAAAAAAw8/GtsXyxAKkvk/s1600/3+PS+-+LR-Stephanic+(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1Kwwk-qj91g/UcWEPuliFII/AAAAAAAAAw8/GtsXyxAKkvk/s400/3+PS+-+LR-Stephanic+(3).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Zhuhai park - China</span></span></td></tr>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Vaymp2xV7k/UcWEPXJUjGI/AAAAAAAAAw4/QSGr-5V6NwQ/s1600/3+PS+-+LR-Stephanic+(4).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Vaymp2xV7k/UcWEPXJUjGI/AAAAAAAAAw4/QSGr-5V6NwQ/s400/3+PS+-+LR-Stephanic+(4).jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02560927027876590811noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-65553088699600539372013-03-21T20:44:00.000+00:002013-08-07T14:02:25.731+01:00Valle del Rio - Chile <br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--m_r9dz74hI/UgJFOO5YF0I/AAAAAAAABXw/P_ro58ATXQk/s1600/1+CL-8395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--m_r9dz74hI/UgJFOO5YF0I/AAAAAAAABXw/P_ro58ATXQk/s640/1+CL-8395.jpg" width="518" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BzvQUyMZ9MM/UgJFOZel7oI/AAAAAAAABX8/IS8w7s8lWjU/s1600/1+CL-8395+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BzvQUyMZ9MM/UgJFOZel7oI/AAAAAAAABX8/IS8w7s8lWjU/s320/1+CL-8395+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Valle del Rio Elqui Monte Grande "Diminished by the altitude of the surrounding hills, it´s coveting in the details make them outstand among vineyards and cactuses"</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-59451768203908787322013-03-19T20:56:00.000+00:002013-08-07T14:01:10.973+01:00Hobbiit from New Zeland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YCOKCpnd4Hc/UgJE_UHZdjI/AAAAAAAABXg/vTUpKiO7tDg/s1600/2+NZ+-+81286.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YCOKCpnd4Hc/UgJE_UHZdjI/AAAAAAAABXg/vTUpKiO7tDg/s640/2+NZ+-+81286.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kHk_9CIiwzs/UgJFAhhRPJI/AAAAAAAABXo/WPYHJ3zBry0/s1600/2+NZ+-+81286+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kHk_9CIiwzs/UgJFAhhRPJI/AAAAAAAABXo/WPYHJ3zBry0/s320/2+NZ+-+81286+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Radagast</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">From New Zeland, where Hobbit´s movies were filmed.</span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-57391242336375679172013-03-12T21:01:00.000+00:002013-08-07T13:59:39.885+01:00Namban-ji temple from Japan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7EZ6thFJHGw/UgJEosTG84I/AAAAAAAABXQ/NM3ASb7uuoc/s1600/3+JP+-+373352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="460" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7EZ6thFJHGw/UgJEosTG84I/AAAAAAAABXQ/NM3ASb7uuoc/s640/3+JP+-+373352.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1ZAVx4iT18/UgJEqCxdoPI/AAAAAAAABXY/URBY39LxvWc/s1600/3+JP+-+373352+selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1ZAVx4iT18/UgJEqCxdoPI/AAAAAAAABXY/URBY39LxvWc/s320/3+JP+-+373352+selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Namban-ji temple
Christian Church in kyoto
painted by: Kanô Sôshû</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-76333637350527454542013-03-08T12:22:00.001+00:002013-08-07T13:58:32.805+01:00Orange Cat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hGUN-QPBWSk/UgJETMXSNmI/AAAAAAAABXI/p6oONdenMDw/s1600/10+RU+-+1518369.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hGUN-QPBWSk/UgJETMXSNmI/AAAAAAAABXI/p6oONdenMDw/s640/10+RU+-+1518369.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QlrNCi4XmVE/UgJERn-kEMI/AAAAAAAABXE/L5mHxBUGp18/s1600/10+RU+-+1518369+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QlrNCi4XmVE/UgJERn-kEMI/AAAAAAAABXE/L5mHxBUGp18/s320/10+RU+-+1518369+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Orange Cat from Russia</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-68845557332450764202013-03-07T12:22:00.000+00:002013-08-07T13:57:05.545+01:00The Gare St - Lazare, 1877<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L6jdOm6_Ar0/UgJEEW8ZkTI/AAAAAAAABWw/Z5UVGMuc5ag/s1600/9+RU+-+1502175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L6jdOm6_Ar0/UgJEEW8ZkTI/AAAAAAAABWw/Z5UVGMuc5ag/s640/9+RU+-+1502175.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Io4yC3R0Gbc/UgJEFCQHiRI/AAAAAAAABW4/6dQyhez6Wu0/s1600/9+RU+-+1502175+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Io4yC3R0Gbc/UgJEFCQHiRI/AAAAAAAABW4/6dQyhez6Wu0/s320/9+RU+-+1502175+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">THE NATIONAL GALLERY</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">The Gare St-Lazare, 1877 </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Claude-Oscar Monet, 1840-1926</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Oil on canvas</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Bought, 1982</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">From Martin, Russia</span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-63304674317619401792013-03-06T12:21:00.000+00:002013-08-07T13:56:11.619+01:00Romeo and Giulietta<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yfINhQVCEas/UgJD2Yw7TWI/AAAAAAAABWg/di8vF_tGuuw/s1600/8+FI+-+1691023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yfINhQVCEas/UgJD2Yw7TWI/AAAAAAAABWg/di8vF_tGuuw/s640/8+FI+-+1691023.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pxp3gveYX1I/UgJD3oYJ63I/AAAAAAAABWo/-dqst6dHPQ8/s1600/8+FI+-+1691023+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="121" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pxp3gveYX1I/UgJD3oYJ63I/AAAAAAAABWo/-dqst6dHPQ8/s320/8+FI+-+1691023+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Romeu and Giulietta from Minna - Finland</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-54697876052289692932013-03-06T12:20:00.000+00:002013-08-07T13:55:20.219+01:00Made in Italy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zx-ntvroS-8/UgJDmhwVb1I/AAAAAAAABWU/B3TGZFmSGeU/s1600/1+IT+-+217566.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zx-ntvroS-8/UgJDmhwVb1I/AAAAAAAABWU/B3TGZFmSGeU/s640/1+IT+-+217566.jpg" width="450" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aSYWsdd9Ht8/UgJDmgxcx_I/AAAAAAAABWQ/v8ilvP-ie5I/s1600/1+IT+-+217566+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aSYWsdd9Ht8/UgJDmgxcx_I/AAAAAAAABWQ/v8ilvP-ie5I/s320/1+IT+-+217566+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Costumi tradizionali 1-3) Costume tradizionale di Scanno 2-4) Costume tradizionale di Pescocostanzo</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From Marcello - Italy</span></span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1629494909308499331.post-1611001596704965172013-03-05T12:19:00.000+00:002013-08-07T13:54:09.539+01:00...another beautiful bike<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c5GW6vXZsY4/UgJDXV4i5vI/AAAAAAAABWA/gGQSJlqahK4/s1600/3+UA+-+513396+Frente.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c5GW6vXZsY4/UgJDXV4i5vI/AAAAAAAABWA/gGQSJlqahK4/s640/3+UA+-+513396+Frente.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZB8mM7nuXU4/UgJDYGTvqDI/AAAAAAAABWI/GB2CHd9SYPs/s1600/3+UA+-+513396+Selo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZB8mM7nuXU4/UgJDYGTvqDI/AAAAAAAABWI/GB2CHd9SYPs/s320/3+UA+-+513396+Selo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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From Olha - Ukraine</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com