Anthony's Literary Lens

Author: Anthony Thomas

  • A watery journey to inner peace

    A watery journey to inner peace

    TikTok

    Settle into a comfortable space, let your mind relax. Close your eyes and imagine a tranquil pool, its surface undisturbed. As drops of water delicately descend, visualise each ripple creating soothing patterns, nature’s intricate dance.

    Breathe in deeply, allowing the soothing sounds to guide your breath. Feel the gentle caress of a calm breeze as you immerse yourself in this peaceful scene. With each drop, a harmonious echo resonates as you invite tranquillity into your being.

    Picture the concentric circles expanding gracefully, forming ephemeral artwork on the water’s surface. As you observe, release any tension as you exhale, letting go of worries like ripples dispersing into the calm pool.

    Allow the rhythmic melody of water droplets to guide you into a state of serenity. Embrace the simplicity of this moment, finding solace in the gentle descent of each droplet, creating a pool of calmness within your body and mind.

    In this sacred space, detach from the outside world, sinking into the calm water and the quiet patterns of the drops. As you continue to breathe in harmony with the natural rhythm, feel nature’s gentle embrace enveloping you.

    Tranquil pool whispers,
    Nature’s dance in liquid grace,
    Ripples breathe solace.

    Anthony
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  • Where Wild Flames Play, Untamed by Time

    Where Wild Flames Play, Untamed by Time

    Crackling embers glow,
    Serpents dance in twilight’s hush,
    Whispers turn to ash.

    Anthony
    Sparky!

    Ah, but the fire, my friend, it is no simple flicker of light, no mundane dance of embers. It is a bard on a fiery stage, a tempestuous singer in the velvet choir of night! Look closer, let your eyes be washed clean by the molten gold, and see the tales it spins, the secrets it whispers in tongues of flame.

    The twilight drapes its dusky shawl upon the world, and in its hushed embrace, the fire awakens. It stretches its fiery limbs, each crackle a drumbeat, each spark a cymbal clash. The logs, once stolid wood, become writhing serpents, their scales of bark kissed by the inferno’s touch. They hiss and sigh, their sap turned to molten tears that drip like rubies into the hungry maw of the flames.

    And the colours, oh, the colours! Scarlet banners unfurl against the night’s ebony canvas, saffron pennants flutter in the draft’s capricious hand. Emerald spears pierce the darkness, sapphire whispers in the embers’ glow. It is a kaleidoscope of life, a molten rainbow spilled from the heavens themselves.

    The flames, they leap and twist like souls set free, a celestial ballet choreographed by the wild wind. They waltz with shadows, tango with smoke, pirouette in a whirlwind of their own making. They are stallions of fire, maned with smoke, hooves striking sparks upon the stone hearth. They are phoenixes reborn, wings of flame unfurling to paint the night with fleeting brilliance.

    But listen, for the fire tells its tale not just in light, but in sound. It crackles and pops, a chorus of whispers and shouts. It roars and sighs, a dragon’s mournful song. It is the lullaby of ancient forests, the drumbeat of the primal heart. It is the music of life, its rhythm etched in the very fabric of existence.

    And in the embers’ soft, dying fall, there is a beauty as poignant as the flames themselves. They glow like fallen stars, embers of dreams, whispers of stories half-told. They drift on the wind, a ghostly caravan bound for the shores of dawn.

    So let the fire sing its song, let it wash over you, cleanse you, make you one with the primal dance of light and shadow. In its flickering breath, find the echo of your own heart, the spark of your own soul. The fire, it is not just warmth, it is a window to eternity, a glimpse of the ever-burning furnace that keeps the universe alight.

    And remember, as you turn away from the dying embers, that the fire lives on within you. It lives in the warmth of your blood, the light in your eyes, the passion in your heart. Let it burn on, my friend, let it illuminate your own path, your own dance in the grand theatre of life.

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  • Beautiful things don’t ask for attention

    Beautiful things don’t ask for attention

    “Crimson bleeds to gold,
    Sun whispers to hushed mountains,
    Beauty knows its worth.“

    Anthony

    The world is a chorus of demands. Voices clamour, tweets shriek, billboards bellow. I used to mistake grand gestures for grandeur. My own life was a performance, a desperate bid for applause. Loud words, ostentatious acts, a constant yearning for the spotlight. But the hollowness within echoed loudest.

    It was in the hush of introspection that I stumbled upon the secret garden of the quiet ones. A solitary sunflower, facing the sun with quiet majesty, a dewdrop clinging to a leaf, refracting rainbows unseen, the rustle of wind through ancient pines, composing concertos for no human audience.

    These hidden jewels taught me. Beauty doesn’t beg for notice, it simply “is”. It doesn’t compete, it merely exists in its own fullness. A whisper in the night, a star’s faint ember, a child’s smile unprompted, each radiating a gentle luminosity that asks no payment and seeps into your soul.

    Learning from the silent becomes an act of unlearning. Stripping away the layers of noise, the need for validation, the desperate thirst for external approval. It’s about cultivating an inner garden, where quietude nourishes the seeds of authenticity.

    It’s letting go of the need to impress, to explain, to justify. It’s trusting that what you are, what you create, in its contented serenity, resonates with those meant to find it. It’s the artist painting unseen, the writer pouring their heart into lines that may never find readers, the musician composing only for their own ears.

    In the silence, we discover the depths of our own being. We hear the whispers of our true selves, unadulterated by the need to please. We find a strength that doesn’t need to roar, a wisdom that speaks in soft murmurs, a love that radiates like moonlight, warming without burning.

    The world will continue its clamour, but within us, a sanctuary awaits. A space where beauty blooms in the quiet, where the soul whispers its own song, where we learn to be, simply and authentically, enough. And perhaps, in that quietness, we too become like the hidden jewels of the world, radiating a beauty that needs no spotlight, yet illuminates the lives of those who stumble upon it.

    Soft moonlight
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  • Shark tooth fossil

    Shark tooth fossil

    Shark tooth fossils can range in age from hundreds of thousands to millions of years old.

    The brown shiny bit is about 5 cm long.
    One of my prized possessions 🙂

    How fossils are formed

    Dude, check it out – fossils are like rock stars of the past. So, here’s the deal: when a rad critter kicks the bucket, and it gets buried in the dirt, the underground party begins. Minerals from the Earth’s VIP list start sneaking into the remains, swapping out the organic vibes for hardcore mineral beats. It’s like a slow-motion transformation, man. Molecule by molecule, the original stuff gets the boot, and the minerals take center stage.

    Before you know it, you’ve got a fossil – a rock-solid relic of the ancient scene. It’s like nature’s remix, where the original material gets replaced by these mineral maestros. And bam, you’ve got a fossil that’s tougher than Ozzy Osbourne. It’s the way the fossil rocks roll, dude! 🤘

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  • Moth odd balls

    Moth odd balls

    The peppered moth.

    Before pollution
    After pollution


    In the early 19th century, most peppered moths in England were light-coloured. This was because they were well-camouflaged against the light-coloured tree bark on which they lived. However, during the Industrial Revolution, many trees became blackened by soot from factories. As a result, dark-coloured peppered moths became better camouflaged and were more likely to survive and reproduce. Over time, the frequency of the gene for dark coloration increased in the population, and the peppered moth population became predominantly dark-coloured.

    Dead leaf moth

    Wow!

    Imagine a fallen leaf, brown and veined, curled up on the forest floor. Now, picture that leaf suddenly unfolding into a beautiful moth! That’s the dead leaf moth in action. Its wings mimic a dead leaf with remarkable precision, complete with brown and green hues, vein-like markings, and even a curled-up appearance.

    Vampire moth

    Looks so cuddly!

    Believe it or not, some moths, like the Vampire Moth, feed on the tears and blood of sleeping mammals! They use their long proboscis to pierce the skin and lap up the fluids, a truly macabre adaptation.

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    And I thought moths were just fuzzy nightlights, flitting erratically around porch lamps. What a glorious underestimation that was! From the dead leaf moth’s uncanny leaf mimicry to the vampire moth’s liquid midnight feasts, these winged wonders have shattered my simplistic moth-conception

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  • Misty Realms

    Misty Realms

    “Mist veils ancient tales,
    Gwrach y Rhibyn whispers doom,
    Welsh hearts etched in fear”

    Anthony
    Black sheep

    Hag of the Mist

    In the mist-shrouded realm of Welsh folklore, there exists the haunting spectre known as Gwrach y Rhibyn—the Hag of the Mist. This malevolent entity, draped in the cloak of death, emerges when the air thickens with an ominous fog. Gwrach y Rhibyn, a wretched crone with ancient secrets and supernatural powers, casts an unsettling shadow upon those unlucky enough to cross her path. Her appearance forebodes impending tragedy, and the mist itself seems to whisper tales of doom. In the misty veil between the living and the supernatural, Gwrach y Rhibyn innokes a chilling narrative, leaving a lingering sense of fear etched into the hearts of the Welsh people.

    Gwrach y Rhibyn

    Yn y byd cysegredig wedi’i wympasu â niwl yn chwedloniaeth Gymreig, mae yna ysbryd frawychus o’r enw Gwrach y Rhibyn— hag of the Mist. Cyfentrodd ysbryd niweidiol hwn, wedi’i wisgo mewn mantell angau, pan fydd yr awyr yn trwchus gyda niwl dywyll. Gwrach y Rhibyn, hen wrgi â chyfrinachau hynafol a phŵerau dychmygol, sy’n taflu cysgod anghyson ar y rhai anffawdus sy’n croesi ei lwybr. Mae ei hystyr yn rhagweld trais sy’n agosáu, ac mae’r niwl ei hun yn ymddangos fel bod yn sibrwd chwedlau o ddinistr. Yn y llenni niwlog rhwng y byw a’r gorllyd, mae Gwrach y Rhibyn yn ennyn naratif o oeri, gan adael teimlad parhaus o ofn wedi’i ysgrifennu yn llygaid pobl Cymru.

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  • Be Still

    Be Still

    “Moonlit tides obey,
    Leader holds a steady hand,
    Stillness guides the way”

    Anthony
    Peace

    The river whispers to the willow, “Be still,” as its current bends, caressing the slender limbs. The mountain murmurs to the pine, “Be still,” as the wind carves its ageless form against the sky.

    Be still, child of the earth, and let the ripples of desire recede within the pool of your mind. Breathe as the lotus, slow and deep, rooting you in the mud of the everyday. Chase not the shiny, flitting dragonfly of distraction, but gather the dewdrops of wisdom from the silent dawn.

    Be still, scholar of virtue, and let the clamour of opinions fade into the distant hills. Hone your character as the craftsman polishes sacred jade, stroke by patient stroke, until the inner light shines true. Let the ink of understanding flow not from borrowed vessels, but from the wellspring of your own quiet contemplation.

    Be still, leader of men, and let the reins of ambition slacken in your grasp. As the moon guides the tides with its gentle pull, so govern with a heart attuned to the rhythm of your people. Seek not to control the waters, but to navigate them with wisdom, a quiet rudder in the storm.

    Be still, wanderer of the earth, and let the whispers of the world wash over you like leaves on a stream. Seek not meaning in every gust of wind, but in the rooted stillness of the ancient tree. The path unfolds beneath your feet, not in the shouts of distant travellers, but in the echo of your own mindful steps.

    For in the stillness, the wise man hears his inner whisper, a sense beyond words, a guiding light in the heart. Be still, and let the silence of the universe resonate within your soul.

    Shanshui style painting
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  • Midnight Performance: Video of cactus flower opening

    Midnight Performance: Video of cactus flower opening

    I’m so pleased with how this turned out.
    Tap to watch the video

    So, I’ve been growing cactus (or is it cacti?) for a while now, and I’ve always been fascinated by their unique blooms. One of my favourite cacti to grow is the Echinopsis subdenudata, also known as the Easter Lily cactus. This cactus produces large (up to 4in or 11 cm across), white flowers with a beautiful scent that usually open at midnight and are fading by midday.

    Echinopsis subdenudata.

    I was determined to capture the magical moment when one of mine opened. I decided to use my phone to record the process using the app Stop Motion Studio.

    The night before, I saw the flower was bursting to open.I set up my phone on a tripod and positioned it right next to the cactus. I then opened the Stop Motion Studio app and set it to take photos of the flower every few seconds. I left the phone on all night, so I could capture the flower as it slowly unfurled.

    The next morning, I was excited to check my footage. I was amazed to see how clearly the app had captured the entire process of the flower opening. The video is only 11 seconds long, and, as you can see, it shows the flower unfolding its petals until it is fully open.

    I was so happy with the results of my experiment. I was able to capture a beautiful and unique natural phenomenon that I could share with others. If you’re interested in trying this yourself, I highly recommend it.

    The Echinopsis subdenudata is a large, barrel-shaped cactus that is native to the Andes Mountains of South America. It can grow up to 3 feet tall and produces large, white flowers. These blooms open at night, attracting nocturnal pollinators such as hawkmoths and sphinx moths. The flowers have a beautiful scent that is similar to jasmine (they fill my greenhouse when they open).

    Echinopsis subdenudata is a popular houseplant because it is relatively easy to care for. It can be grown in a pot or container with well-draining soil. It should be watered infrequently, and it should be given plenty of sunlight. I think the secret of making it flower is not to water it at all through the winter.

    If you’re looking for a cactus that will reward you with beautiful flowers, the Echinopsis subdenudata is a great choice.

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  • Pink lily, white koi, a perfect match

    Pink lily, white koi, a perfect match

    Water lily blooms
    Above – a koi swims below
    Two worlds, one beauty

    Anthony
    A photo I took a few years ago.
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    A water lily and a koi carp fish are two symbols that have a lot of meaning and significance in Asian cultures, especially in Japan. They are sometimes depicted together in art and tattoos, as they represent a combination of purity, enlightenment, and rebirth.

    A water lily is a beautiful aquatic plant that grows in muddy water but emerges clean and radiant. It has large, round leaves that float on the surface of the water and colourful flowers that bloom above the water. It symbolises purity, beauty, and spiritual awakening. A water lily is also associated with Buddhism, as it represents the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. A water lily can close its petals at night and open them again in the morning, symbolizing the ability to rise above the darkness and ignorance.

    A koi carp fish is an ornamental carp that can swim upstream against strong currents. It symbolises courage, determination, and transformation. According to a legend, a koi fish that can reach the top of a waterfall will turn into a dragon. A koi fish is also a symbol of luck, success, and prosperity. A white koi fish with a red spot on its head is called a kohaku, and it is one of the most popular and valuable varieties. It represents happiness, love, and passion.

    Koi fish swims upstream
    Water lily opens wide
    Both seek the light

    Anthony

    The relationship between a water lily and a koi carp fish is that they both symbolize the attainment of enlightenment and the overcoming of obstacles. They also complement each other in terms of color and meaning. A white koi fish with a red spot on its head and a red water lily create a harmonious and balanced image of peace and passion. Together, they create a beautiful and inspiring scene of nature and spirituality.

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  • Oreo: a tale of two eyes

    Oreo: a tale of two eyes

    In the quiet hamlet nestled ‘neath the shroud of time, there dwelt a colossal Great Dane, christened Oreo in the tongue of the townsfolk. His fur, a patchwork quilt of ebony and alabaster, concealed a secret known to those who dared peer into the windows of his soul.

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    Oreo, a creature of the night and the day, bore witness to the celestial dance in his very gaze. One eye, an obsidian pool, cradled the secrets whispered by the moon in the stillness of midnight. Its velvety depths held the mysteries of nocturnal realms, casting an otherworldly allure upon all who chanced upon its depths.

    Contrasted against this cosmic canvas, his second eye, a sapphire jewel, mirrored the tender caress of the sun’s golden fingers. Bathed in daylight’s warmth, it spoke of sunlit meadows and endless azure skies, a portal to the day’s vibrancy.

    In the shadowy corners of the town, rumours brewed like the evening mist – tales of a canine blessed by the lunar and solar embrace. The storytellers, their voices trembling with the weight of folklore, spun yarns of Oreo’s eyes as conduits to realms unseen. Whispers echoed through cobblestone streets and shadowed alleys, engraving a narrative of ethereal enchantment into the town’s history.

    Clara, the matronly keeper of Oreo’s heart, cradled these murmurs with a knowing smile. Her weathered hands, etched with the passage of countless sunrises and moonlit vigils, stroked Oreo’s majestic frame. She understood that his gaze transcended the mundane, a communion with celestial forces sown into the very fabric of his existence.

    And so, under the watchful eyes of moon and sun, Oreo and Clara sauntered through the chronicles of their days. Their tale, a lyrical dance in the moonlight and a serenade beneath the golden dawn, etched itself into the annals of the hamlet’s collective memory. Oreo, the spectral guardian of celestial secrets, and Clara, the earthly custodian of a bond forged in the crucible of night and day.

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