Southwest - Tumblr Posts
Large Wine Cellar Ideas for a sizable, transitional wine cellar renovation with storage racks
Wine Cellar Display in Phoenix
Design ideas for a wine cellar renovation with display racks in the southwest
Rustic Kitchen Phoenix Inspiration for a large rustic l-shaped travertine floor open concept kitchen remodel with a farmhouse sink, raised-panel cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, beige backsplash, stone tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances and an island
A view to the #southwest from tv #tower #Florian in #Westfalenpark #Dortmund with #sunlight shining over #Westfalenstadion (home of #BVB09) 27.6.15 #latergram #clouds #backlight (en Florianturm)
Sunrise at Monument Valley Navajo Park in Utah, without a doubt one of the most iconic desert views in the North American South West.
Photo by Keith Ladzinski
Gravel - Landscape
Photo of a large southwestern drought-tolerant and full sun backyard gravel garden path in summer.
Basement Walk Out Basement - large southwestern walk-out medium tone wood floor and brown floor basement idea with gray walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace
Albuquerque Enclosed Kitchen
9.17.23
weekend camping trip to sedona ✨🏜️
There is a desert, and a City, a long way from here, from anywhere. It is hot, beneath the gaze of a titanic star, all red lashing and mile-long-shadows.
Vast, fossilized rock carved by howling winds stands in sentinel defense across endless marching eons. Jagged broken mountain peaks, shifting dunes, gloomy shadowed canyons.
But—there is something else. Something across the sands. The City. An ancient metropolis far larger than anything built on Earth, by human hands. It’s immensity dwarfs Giza and her pyramids, Greek Colossi, Aztec ziggurats. Polished-black rock spires, twisted and warren-filled coliseums, gleaming bronze skyscrapers studded by uncountable lightless windows. It is a City of a hundred billion souls. And it appears empty. It isn’t. Shadows linger. Huge, dark eyes peer out from tight stone avenues and yawning, gaping archways.
Whispering winds hide quiet, dreamlike voices.
This rifle was the Devil’s favorite. He slew legions of angels with it in the War of Heaven, hungry golden bullets that could crack universes and turn concepts into meaningless bundled words. It is beautiful. Metal so black it’s almost blue, refined onyx overlaid with silver, ivory.
You pulled it from dead hands. Victorious.
It feels perfect— familiar. Like an old friend. The sinking Sun descends and throws warm red light over everything, drowns this world in blood.
Somewhere deep down inside, you can’t help but feel that this weapon, this rifle— has been waiting for you.
You dig. You’ve been digging a long time. A featureless blue sky sprawls, staring down at you. It scorns you white-hot sunlight, painful and scorching. Judgmental as long vanished gods.
You’re dirty. Dust on clothes that in another world, another time, were expensive, implication of status. Now they’re just a shell. A hollow you live inside of.
Digging. Digging. Digging. A shadow crosses the sky on huge wings, plunges you into darkness for just a heartbeat. There’s blood under your fingernails. You swore you scrubbed and scrubbed, you were careless this time, so careless—
It’s done. Another doll in the dirt.
Dusk comes and chases the Sun over the horizon to usher in perpetual, desert midnight. Cold, unblinking stars manifest in silence. You numbly climb into your car beneath them. Driving away from this, from the thing you broke.
She’s there by the side of the road. Bloodied. Gazing at you.
Every mile is accompanied by that face.
No other cars. No gas station light, no haven town.
Just a cracked, porcelain face and bottomless, black eyes.
We step into the daylight.
Me, from the shade of a hospitable tree. All bone branches, gnarled roots. Like hands reaching. Whether in warning or blessing, it doesn’t matter.
Him, from his lair, his tavern and dominion, all shadows. All menacing tricks, all dark turns of mind to shape others. Break them. With words, or with steel.
Around us, watchful and frightful expressions. Faces drawn tight by merciless predators, and a yet still merciless sun. Receded eyes and recessed hopes looking out.
Me, set. Silent. I make my peace. With the sand and stone that may claim me as it has claimed so many others, regardless of their legend. Let it claim what it will. My victory, or my bones.
Him, smile wide as a raging wildlife, and as friendly. Chattering like a murder of ravens. Hollow words for a man filled only by darkness, by blood, and hollowed in return by it. Smirking like my blood has already hit this silent, stoic sand.
Waiting.
The heavy iron clock speaks its word, declares the contest open.
And with a single report, it is closed.