http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/snowboarder-cave-austria/

Powder burst to the left and right of her board. The easy cadence of her serpentine path schwiff schwiff schwiffed as Meri carved down the mountain. In the earpiece tucked inside her helmet, a low beep began to sound. She attacked a ridge with authority and launched off its edge. For a long moment, she soared on a cloud of flawless snow. Beneath her cold gear, she grinned from ear to ear.

She landed with a thump. With a deft twist of her hips, she pushed herself to a stop, her chest pointed back up the mountain. In her ear, the beep sounded insistently until she clicked the locator button. Looming above her, an ice cave yawned from the mountainside.

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http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/men-sitting-fire-beach/

Dispatches from Titan Beach
By C. Cibo
11^th Tayes 1343 A.A.

Three years and one day ago, this was a normal beach. One of a number of normal beaches. A popular summer retreat for people from any of the three major cities within a three-hour drive. Three years and one day ago, it was a town with no stories to share beyond summer flings and noteworthy sunburns.

When the Titan walked out of the water three years ago, it was at this beach. On that day, we were certain it would change the whole world. It seemed like everything would be different. The implications of the ancient’s engineering abilities, confirmation of their use of magic and machine together, the sheer scale of their ambition were mind-boggling.  The science of repelling the corrosive power of salt water alone was worth billions.

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http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/bangkok-night-guttenfelder/

Concentration was difficult in the orgy of sight & sound on Neon Hill. And this was a constant at the center of a city that fancied itself the world’s next capital. Horns blared at irregular intervals, under-oiled brakes squeaked in a cringe-inducing, high-pitched whine, red brake lights flashed on faces of people laughing or shouting or frowning at the crush of tourists.

Through it all, Emma had to concentrate. To everyone else on Neon Hill, this was just another weeknight at the city’s polychromatic heart. For Emma, and the impatient woman beside her, it was a vital test.

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http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/night-fire-trails/

Phil had been at it for three weeks. Radio waves, microwaves, lasers, hair dryers and plastic toy water guns. He’d blasted the little circle in the air with as many apparatuses as he could gather. The results were the same every time. The circle swallowed the wave or the laser or the hot air, did something unseen, and shot it out in a beautiful blast of sparks.

It made no sense. It couldn’t possibly exist.

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http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/rowing-mathura-lake/

The man stood patiently on the unadorned quay. His mind wandered, only for a moment, but when he came out of his reverie, the row boat was paddling toward him. A lone, weathered man worked the oars. With a little thunk, the shallow boat bumped up against the dock.

“This isn’t a very big boat,” the man noted.

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http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/lanterns-chinese-festival/

There were two kinds of light that lit the sky. Not every day, of course. Just on this particular day. And while Zhulong appreciated the daylight draped over the town center so early in the day, it was the second kind of light, the kind that would come tonight, that he vastly preferred.

Security wouldn’t be needed at the event. Even the most dedicated trouble-makers left well enough alone during the Lantern Lift. It wasn’t strictly necessary for Zhulong to don his uniform and short-cane and patrol the grounds. But he volunteered anyway because it was better than sitting around his house, waiting for night to fall.

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http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/mayana-soora-thiruvizha-festival/

C.M. Tenom, Anthropology, Uni. of City South – Field Notes
Face Painting Rituals on the Endless Continent (paper release title?)
(Summary thoughts from journals #1-5)

– Face painting is part of the religious/spiritual traditions of at least 27 different communities on Genpaa. The vast majority do not have written language, and oral traditions are the source of their history. Oral traditions are hugely helpful in every area except one – accurate dating. Once a story is told & passed down, it’s a part of the community’s canon. A story could be no more than 40 or 50 years old, but it’s told alongside stories that are many hundreds of years old. In short, there’s no way of telling when these face painting rituals began. Given their spread across the so-called Endless Continent, I’d hazard a guess that it was first used about 350 years ago.

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I was out of the country for a few weeks. I had dreams of doing serious work to catch up in the days/weeks upon my return, but that was a pipe dream. That was folly. So I’ve come up with a new plan.  Starting today, April 25th, I will resume the daily stories.

And in January of next year, I will post, as the last gasp of the Tall Tale Year, a novella that will be based on the images from March 29th through April 24th.

For now, please forgive my momentary absence. There are many more tales to come in 2015, and we’ll start up again with an anthropologist’s notes on the unlikely rituals on a distant continent…

http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/firefighter-recruits-drill/

“This feels like a bad idea.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s unproven technology.”

“Nah, it’s proven.”

“Untested, then.”

“Well, yeah. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Not by choice.”

“Still.”

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http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/deer-sunflower-camouflage/

It was an absolute feast. And he had it all to himself. Well, not at this exact moment. At this exact moment, it was a rotting field. But that was only because the clouds had been out all morning.

They wouldn’t stay. Already he could feel slight changes in the air. It was a little drier, the wind blew at a slightly different angle. In an hour, the first break in the clouds would form. An hour after that, big blobs of blue would push through the fields of white and grey. And then this field would turn to gold.

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