Anthony's Literary Lens

Category: landscape

  • The Mythology of Bala Lake: Wales’ Enchanted Waters.

    The Mythology of Bala Lake: Wales’ Enchanted Waters.

    Bala lake, wales
    Taken on a recent trip

    A Lake Steeped in Legend
    Nestled in the heart of Snowdonia, Bala Lake (Llyn Tegid) is not just Wales’ largest natural lake,it is a vessel of ancient myths, secrets, and timeless folklore. For centuries, its deep, dark waters have inspired tales of drowned kingdoms, enchanted creatures, and legendary heroes. The lake’s name itself, “Tegid”, hints at its mystical past, derived from the Welsh word for “serene” or “fair.” But beneath its tranquil surface lies a world of myth and magic, where history and legend blur.

    The Drowned Kingdom of King Helig
    One of the most enduring legends of Bala Lake is the story of King Helig ap Glannog, a 6th-century ruler whose kingdom, Cantref Gwaelod, was said to lie beneath the waves. According to folklore, Helig’s land was a fertile lowland, protected by dyke and dam. But one fateful night, the sea gates were left open, either by the negligence of a drunken gatekeeper or the wrath of a scorned fairy, and the waters rushed in, swallowing the kingdom whole.

    To this day, locals claim that on quiet nights, the church bells of Helig’s lost kingdom can still be heard tolling from the depths. Fishermen tell of glimpsing rooftops and towering spires far below, and some even say that Helig and his court sleep beneath the lake, waiting for the day they will rise again.

    “When the waters are still, and the mist hangs low, you can hear the echoes of a lost world.”

    Lake in mist

    Tegid Foel and the Sleeping Warriors
    Another tale speaks of Tegid Foel, a giant or king who once ruled the region. It is said that he and his warriors rest in a hidden cave beneath the lake, ready to awaken in Wales’ hour of greatest need. This legend mirrors the broader Welsh myth of sleeping heroes, warriors who lie in wait, much like King Arthur in Avalon, to return when their homeland calls.

    Some versions of the story claim that Tegid Foel was a giant who carved out the lake with his bare hands, while others say he was a nobleman transformed into a monster for his sins. Whatever the truth, his name lives on in the lake’s Welsh identity: “Llyn Tegid”.

    The Afanc: Wales’ Loch Ness Monster
    No body of water in Welsh mythology is complete without its own lake monster , and Bala Lake is no exception. The Afanc, a monstrous, crocodile-like beast, was said to dwell in the lake, dragging unsuspecting travelers to their doom. Unlike the gentle giants of other myths, the Afanc was a creature of chaos, its thrashing tail causing floods and destruction.

    Legends tell of how the Afanc was finally lured out of the lake by a clever maiden, who tricked it into following her to a deep pit, where it was trapped forever. Some say the beast still stirs in the depths, its occasional movements causing mysterious ripples on the surface.

    The Gwragedd Annwn: Fairy Wives of the Lake
    Bala Lake is also home to the Gwragedd Annwn, the “Wives of the Otherworld.” These beautiful, elusive fairy women were said to emerge from the water, sometimes to help humans, other times to lure them into their aquatic realm. Fishermen who caught glimpses of them described them as radiant, with long flowing hair and dresses woven from lake reeds.

    One famous tale tells of a young man who married a Gwragedd Annwn, only for her to vanish back into the lake when he broke a taboo, often by striking her or revealing her true nature. These stories serve as cautionary tales about the perils of mortal curiosity and the thin veil between our world and the Otherworld.

    Merlin, Arthur, and the Lady of the Lake
    Bala Lake is sometimes linked to the broader Arthurian legends. Some scholars suggest that the lake could be one of the many bodies of water associated with the Lady of the Lake, the enchantress who gave King Arthur his sword, Excalibur.

    Local lore says that Merlin himself once walked these shores, drawn by the lake’s magical properties. Whether as a place of prophecy, a hiding spot for sacred relics, or a gateway to Avalon, Bala Lake’s connection to Arthurian myth adds another layer to its mystique.


    What do you think lies beneath the surface of Bala Lake? A lost kingdom? A slumbering monster? Or something even older? Share your thoughts and your own legends.

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    Tap here for a list of 100 endangered animals and plants.

    100 endangered plant and animal species

    * Abies beshanzuensis (Baishan fir) – Plant (Tree) – Baishanzu Mountain, Zhejiang, China – Three mature individuals

    * Actinote zikani – Insect (butterfly) – Near São Paulo, Atlantic forest, Brazil – Unknown numbers

    * Aipysurus foliosquama (Leaf scaled sea-snake) – Reptile – Ashmore Reef and Hibernia Reef, Timor Sea – Unknown numbers * Amanipodagrion gilliesi (Amani flatwing) – Insect (damselfly) – Amani-Sigi Forest, Usamabara Mountains, Tanzania – < 500 individuals * Antisolabis seychellensis – Insect – Morne Blanc, Mahé island, Seychelles – Unknown numbers * Antilophia bokermanni (Araripe manakin) – Bird – Chapado do Araripe, South Ceará, Brazil – 779 individuals * Aphanius transgrediens (Aci Göl toothcarp) – Fish – south-eastern shore of former Lake Aci, Turkey – Few hundred pairs * Aproteles bulmerae (Bulmer’s fruit bat) – Mammal – Luplupwintern Cave, Western Province, Papua New Guinea – 150 * Ardea insignis (White bellied heron) – Bird – Bhutan, North East India and Myanmar – 70–400 individuals * Ardeotis nigriceps (Great Indian bustard) – Bird – Rajasthan, Gujarat, Maharashtra, Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka and Madhya, India – 50–249 mature individuals * Astrochelys yniphora (Ploughshare tortoise) – Reptile – Baly Bay region, northwestern Madagascar – 440–770 * Atelopus balios (Rio Pescado stubfoot toad) – Amphibian – Azuay, Cañar and Guyas provinces, south-western Ecuador – Unknown numbers * Aythya innotata (Madagascar pochard) – Bird – volcanic lakes north of Bealanana, Madagascar – 80 mature individuals * Azurina eupalama (Galapagos damsel fish) – Fish – Unknown numbers – Unknown numbers * Bahaba taipingensis (Giant yellow croaker) – Fish – Chinese coast from Yangtze River, China to Hong Kong – Unknown numbers * Batagur baska (Common batagur) – Reptile (turtle) – Bangladesh, Cambodia, India, Indonesia and Malaysia – Unknown numbers * Bazzania bhutanica – Plant – Budini and Lafeti Khola, Bhutan – 2 sub-populations * Beatragus hunteri (Hirola) – Mammal (antelope) – South-east Kenya and possibly south-west Somalia – < 1,000 individuals * Bombus franklini (Franklin’s bumblebee) – Insect (bee) – Oregon and California – Unknown numbers * Brachyteles hypoxanthus (Northern muriqui / Woolly spider monkey) – Mammal (primate) – Atlantic forest, south-eastern Brazil – < 1,000 * Bradypus pygmaeus (Pygmy three-toed sloth) – Mammal – Isla Escudo de Veraguas, Panama – < 500 * Callitriche pulchra – Plant (freshwater) – pool on Gavdos, Greece – Unknown numbers * Calumma tarzan (Tarzan’s chameleon) – Reptile – Anosibe An’Ala region, eastern Madagascar – < 100 * Cavia intermedia (Santa Catarina’s guinea pig) – Mammal (rodent) – Moleques do Sul Island, Santa Catarina, Brazil – 40–60 * Cercopithecus roloway (Roloway guenon) – Mammal (primate) – Côte d’Ivoire – Unknown numbers * Coleura seychellensis (Seychelles sheath-tailed bat) – Mammal (bat) – Two small caves on Silhouette and Mahé, Seychelles – < 100 * Cryptomyces maximus (Willow blister) – Fungi – Pembrokeshire, United Kingdom – Unknown numbers * Cryptotis nelsoni (Nelson’s small-eared shrew) – Mammal (shrew) – Volcán San Martín Tuxtla, Veracruz, Mexico – Unknown numbers * Cyclura collei (Jamaican iguana / Jamaican rock iguana) – Reptile – Hellshire Hills, Jamaica – Unknown numbers * Daubentonia madagascariensis (Aye-aye) – Mammal (primate) – Deciduous forest, East Madagascar – Unknown numbers * Dendrophylax fawcettii (Cayman Islands ghost orchid) – Plant (orchid) – Ironwood Forest, George Town, Grand Cayman – Unknown numbers * Dicerorhinus sumatrensis (Sumatran rhino) – Mammal (rhino) – Sabah, Sarawak and Peninsular Malaysia, Kalimantan and Sumatra, Indonesia – < 100 (more recent estimates suggest 34-47) * Diomedea amsterdamensis (Amsterdam albatross) – Bird – Breeds on Plateuau des Tourbières, Amsterdam Island, Indian Ocean. – 100 mature individuals * Dioscorea strydomiana (Wild yam) – Plant – Oshoek area, Mpumalanga, South Africa – 200 * Diospyros katendei – Plant (tree) – Kasyoha-Kitomi Forest Reserve, Uganda – 20 individuals in a single population * Dipterocarpus lamellatus – Plant (tree) – Siangau Forest Reserve, Sabah, Malaysia – 12 individuals * Discoglossus nigriventer (Hula painted frog) – Amphibian – Hula Valley, Israel – Unknown numbers * Dombeya mauritiana – Plant – Mauritius – Unknown numbers * Elaeocarpus bojeri (Bois Dentelle) – Plant (tree) – Grand Bassin, Mauritius – < 10 individuals * Eleutherodactylus glandulifer (La Hotte glanded frog) – Amphibian – Massif de la Hotte, Haiti – Unknown numbers * Eleutherodactylus thorectes (Macaya breast-spot frog) – Amphibian – Formon and Macaya peaks, Masif de la Hotte, Haiti – Unknown numbers * Eriosyce chilensis (Chilenito (cactus)) – Plant – Pta Molles and Pichidungui, Chile – < 500 individuals * Erythrina schliebenii (Coral tree) – Plant – Namatimbili-Ngarama Forest, Tanzania – < 50 individuals * Euphorbia tanaensis – Plant (tree) – Witu Forest Reserve, Kenya – 4 mature individuals * Eurynorhyncus pygmeus (Spoon-billed sandpiper) – Bird – Breeds in Russia, migrates along the East Asian-Australasian Flyway to wintering grounds in India, Bangladesh and Myanmar – 100 breeding pairs * Ficus katendei – Plant – Kasyoha-Kitomi Forest Reserve, Ishasha River, Uganda – < 50 mature individuals * Geronticus eremita (Northern bald ibis) – Bird – Breeds in Morocco, Turkey and Syria. Syrian population winters in central Ethiopia. – About 3000 individuals * Gigasiphon macrosiphon – Plant (flower) – Kaya Muhaka, Gongoni and Mrima Forest Reserves, Kenya, Amani Nature Reserve, West Kilombero Scarp Forest Reserve, and Kihansi Gorge, Tanzania – 33 * Gocea ohridana – Mollusc – Lake Ohrid, Macedonia – Unknown numbers * Heleophryne rosei (Table mountain ghost frog) – Amphibian – Table Mountain, Western Cape Province, South Africa – Unknown numbers * Hemicycla paeteliana – Mollusc (land snail) – Jandia peninsula, Fuerteventura, Canary Islands – Unknown numbers * Heteromirafa sidamoensis (Liben lark) – Bird – Liben Plains, southern Ethiopia – 90–256 * Hibiscadelphus woodii – Plant (tree) – Kalalau Valley, Hawaii – Unknown numbers * Hucho perryi (Sakhalin taimen) – Fish – Russian and Japanese rivers, Pacific Ocean between Russia and Japan – Unknown numbers * Johora singaporensis (Singapore freshwater crab) – Crustacean – Bukit Timah Nature Reserve and streamlet near Bukit Batok, Singapore – Unknown numbers * Lathyrus belinensis (Belin vetchling) – Plant – Outskirts of Belin village, Antalya, Turkey – < 1,000 * Leiopelma archeyi (Archey’s frog) – Amphibian – Coromandel peninsula and Whareorino Forest, New Zealand – Unknown numbers * Lithobates sevosus (Dusky gopher frog) – Amphibian – Harrison County, Mississippi, USA – 60–100 * Lophura edwardsi (Edwards’s pheasant) – Bird – Quang Binh, Quang Tri and Thua Thien-Hue, Viet Nam – Unknown numbers * Magnolia wolfii – Plant (tree) – Risaralda, Colombia – 3 * Margaritifera marocana – Mollusc – Oued Denna, Oued Abid and Oued Beth, Morocco – < 250 * Moominia willii – Mollusc (snail) – Silhouette Island, Seychelles – < 500 * Natalus primus (Cuban greater funnel eared bat) – Mammal (bat) – Cueva La Barca, Isle of Pines, Cuba – < 100 * Nepenthes attenboroughii (Attenborough’s pitcher plant) – Plant – Mount Victoria, Palawan, Philippines – Unknown numbers * Nomascus hainanus (Hainan black crested gibbon) – Mammal (primate) – Hainan Island, China – 20 * Neurergus kaiseri (Luristan newt) – Amphibian – Zagros Mountains, Lorestan, Iran – < 1,000 * Oreocnemis phoenix (Mulanje red damsel) – Insect (damselfly) – Mulanje Plateau, Malawi – Unknown numbers * Pangasius sanitwongsei (Pangasid catfish) – Fish – Chao Phraya and Mekong basins in Cambodia, China, Lao PDR, Thailand and Viet Nam – Unknown numbers * Parides burchellanus – Insect (butterfly) – Cerrado, Brazil – < 100 * Phocoena sinus (Vaquita) – Mammal (porpoise) – Northern Gulf of California, Mexico – 12 * Picea neoveitchii (Type of spruce tree) – Plant (tree) – Qinling Range, China – Unknown numbers * Pinus squamata (Qiaojia pine) – Plant (tree) – Qiaojia, Yunnan, China – < 25 * Poecilotheria metallica (Gooty tarantula / Metallic tarantula / Peacock tarantula / Salepurgu) – Spider – Nandyal and Giddalur, Andhra Pradesh, India – Unknown numbers * Pomarea whitneyi (Fatuhiva monarch) – Bird – Fatu Hiva, Marquesas Islands, French Polynesia – 50 * Pristis pristis (Common sawfish) – Fish – Coastal tropical and subtropical waters of Indo-Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. Currently largely restricted to northern Australia – Unknown numbers * Hapalemur simus (Greater bamboo lemur) – Mammal (primate) – Southeastern and southcentral rainforests of Madagascar – 500 * Propithecus candidus (Silky sifaka) – Mammal (primate) – Maroantsetra to Andapa basin, and Marojeju Massif, Madagascar – 100–1,000 * Psammobates geometricus (Geometric tortoise) – Reptile – Western Cape Province, South Africa – Unknown numbers * Pseudoryx nghetinhensis (Saola) – Mammal – Annamite mountains, on the Viet Nam – PDR Laos border – Unknown numbers * Psiadia cataractae – Plant – Mauritius – Unknown numbers * Psorodonotus ebneri (Beydaglari bush-cricket) – Insect – Beydaglari range, Antalaya, Turkey – Unknown numbers * Rafetus swinhoei (Red River giant softshell turtle) – Reptile – Hoan Kiem Lake and Dong Mo Lake, Viet Nam, and Suzhou Zoo, China – 3 * Rhinoceros sondaicus (Javan rhino) – Mammal (rhino) – Ujung Kulon National Park, Java, Indonesia – < 100 * Rhinopithecus avunculus (Tonkin snub-nosed monkey) – Mammal (primate) – Northeastern Vietnam – < 200 * Rhizanthella gardneri (West Australian underground orchid) – Plant (orchid) – Western Australia, Australia – < 100 * Rhynchocyon spp. (Boni giant sengi) – Mammal – Boni-Dodori Forest, Lamu area, Kenya – Unknown numbers * Risiocnemis seidenschwarzi (Cebu frill-wing) – Insect (damselfly) – Rivulet beside the Kawasan River, Cebu, Philippines – Unknown numbers * Rosa arabica – Plant – St Katherine Mountains, Egypt – Unknown numbers, 10 sub-populations * Salanoia durrelli (Durrell’s vontsira) – Mammal (mongoose) – Marshes of Lake Alaotra, Madagascar – Unknown numbers * Santamartamys rufodorsalis (Red crested tree rat) – Mammal (rodent) – Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, Colombia – Unknown numbers * Scaturiginichthys vermeilipinnis (Red-finned blue-eye) – Fish – Edgbaston Station, central western Queensland, Australia – 2,000–4,000 * Squatina squatina (Angel shark) – Fish – Canary Islands – Unknown numbers * Sterna bernsteini (Chinese crested tern) – Bird – Breeding in Zhejiang and Fujian, China. Outside breeding season in Indonesia, Malaysia, Philippines, Taiwan, Thailand. – < 50 * Syngnathus watermeyeri (Estuarine pipefish) – Fish – Kariega Estuary to East Kleinemonde Estuary, Eastern Cape Province, South Africa – Unknown numbers * Tahina spectabilis (Suicide palm / Dimaka) – Plant – Analalava district, north-western Madagascar – 90 * Telmatobufo bullocki (Bullock’s false toad) – Amphibian (frog) – Nahuelbuta, Arauco Province, Chile – Unknown numbers * Tokudaia muenninki (Okinawa spiny rat) – Mammal (rodent) – Okinawa Island, Japan – Unknown numbers * Trigonostigma somphongsi (Somphongs’s rasbora) – Fish – Mae Khlong basin, Thailand – Unknown numbers * Valencia letourneuxi – Fish – Southern Albania and Western Greece – Unknown numbers * Voanioala gerardii (Forest coconut) – Plant – Masoala peninsula, Madagascar – < 10 * Zaglossus attenboroughi (Attenborough’s echidna) – Mammal – Cyclops Mountains, Papua Province, Indonesia – Unknown numbers

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  • Under the Moon, A Rabbit Grazes.

    Under the Moon, A Rabbit Grazes.

    In the silent light of night, beneath a shining moon and scattered stars, a rabbit grazes. Simple, soft, alive. Not a beast, not wild, but gentle—true. One moment of peace under the sky is more precious than a thousand lives spent disturbing others.

    Better one day alive with dignity, harmony, humility—than years wasted in violence, greed, and deception. The world breaks when men forget this. When they justify the wrong, wear false crowns of power, worship chaos in the name of nation, god, or coin. Then the bad multiplies—like a virus. Bad makes bad.

    But here, the rabbit eats grass. No war. No lies. Nature needs no excuse for its grace. And those who live like this—calm, conscious, thoughtful—are like stars in a clear sky. Beautiful mind, beautiful act. A man of peace, of virtue, of creativity, shines more than any moon or mountain.

    The world hungers not for empires, but for dignity. For patience. For truth. Let the well-behaved, the kind-hearted, the creators—make this world again. For barbarian thought destroys, but the beautiful soul rebuilds.

    In every quiet being—like this rabbit—there is a wisdom. Not loud, not cruel, just right. And that, not power, is what makes life sacred.

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  • The Well Man at Evening’s Door

    The Well Man at Evening’s Door

    Evening light differs
    From morning’s golden promise
    Both bless the same earth

    Took this in the park in Cardiff

    Here stands one man, silver threading his temples, morning mirror showing lines like rivers carved by time’s patient hand. Sixty-seven winters behind, maybe ten, maybe twenty summers ahead—who knows the counting of Creator’s mathematics? Still he wakes each dawn asking the great question: what purpose burns in these old bones?

    Well man, good man, but world whispers confusion in his ears. Society machine tells him: retire, rest, fade into background like yesterday’s newspaper. But his soul—ah, his soul burns bright as noon sun, ideas flowing like spring rivers after winter’s breaking. Experience accumulates like treasures in deep caves of memory. Wisdom grows thick as ancient oak roots, spreading underground where no one sees but feeling everything.

    This is the great paradox, the beautiful wrestling: body aging like autumn leaves, but mind expanding like universe itself. He knows things now—real things, true things. How love matters more than money-making. How kindness ripples through world like stones thrown in still water. How one well word can heal wounds deeper than doctor’s medicine.

    Yet world-machine keeps grinding, making noise: “Too old, too late, step aside for young lions.” But well man knows secret truth—wisdom is not young thing, not hasty thing. Wisdom is patient fire, burning slow and steady, lighting paths for others walking in darkness.

    Every morning he rises like warrior preparing for battle, not against enemies but against despair, against the small voice saying “finished, done, nothing left.” No! Life is great story still being written. Each day new page, new possibility for goodness to flow through willing vessel.

    Well man at evening of life discovers morning never really ends—just changes color, becomes deeper, more beautiful. Like wine aging in cellar, growing richer, more complex, more valuable with time passing. His purpose not shrinking but concentrating, becoming pure essence of what matters most.

    This is why every breath sacred, every heartbeat holy drum calling him forward. Not to great achievements world measures, but to small-great things: listening deeply to grandchild’s story, helping neighbor carry heavy burden, sharing hard-earned wisdom with anyone who stops to hear.

    Well man, well life, well purpose—never too late for goodness to bloom, never too old for love to find new ways of flowing. Evening light different from morning light, but both beautiful, both necessary, both blessing from Creator’s generous hand.

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  • Where Silence Sleeps: Reflections from a Weathered Soul

    Where Silence Sleeps: Reflections from a Weathered Soul

    Not every summit must be reached to find meaning in the climb.

    The Long Green Path

    Imagine a place where time forgets to tick, where each breath feels like the first one ever drawn by the earth itself. This isn’t a fantasy—this is a glimpse into the sacred silence of an uncharted nature.

    I’ve come to this valley often, though not always with my feet. Sometimes in dreams, sometimes in memory. Today, I sit with it in person—bones stiff, breath slow, heart quieter than it once was. Before me: hills that rise and fall like the decades behind me, green waves rolling into the mist. Beyond them, the snowcapped peaks—the place I always imagined I’d reach.

    When I was a boy, those mountains were destiny. Pure, white, untouched. They looked like truth. I thought if I climbed far enough, lived right enough, worked hard enough—I’d stand on those peaks and see everything clearly. But life isn’t a straight climb. It’s a winding trail over hill after hill. Some were gentle. Others I barely crawled over. A few I never expected to survive.

    Each hill behind me now carries a story. Some proud, others painful. Many I climbed with companions who are long gone. And still I moved forward, always believing the peak was just beyond the next rise.

    But today, sitting here with knees too worn to carry me further, I understand something I didn’t before: those snow-covered heights weren’t a destination. They were a guide. A northern star to pull me onward. And maybe, just maybe, the journey was always the point.

    The hills ahead are fewer now. Softer. Not less meaningful, just more peaceful. And I realize—though I may never stand atop the highest peak, I’ve walked far enough to see it clearly. Sometimes clarity doesn’t come from reaching the summit, but from understanding why you climbed in the first place.

    The silence here is deep, but not empty. It speaks without words. And if you listen closely, it tells you: even the longest life is not about conquering, but about becoming.

    I sit with the hills, and I sit with myself. Both of us older, weathered, beautiful in ways we never expected. The peak glows in the distance—not with regret, but with grace.

    And that, perhaps, is enough.

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  • A Meditation on Bluebells and Beech Leaves

    A Meditation on Bluebells and Beech Leaves

    In this sweet season when the year unfolds its tender promise, when Nature, stirring from her wintry sleep, adorns the woodlands with her gentlest hues, I wander aimlessly along pathways where the bluebells keep their soft silent vigil.

    Bluebells


    How fair these azure bells that bow their heads in modest splendor! They carpet the ancient forest floor as a sea of heavenly blue, each delicate bloom trembling with the faintest breath of wind. Each one a miracle of divine craftsmanship yet humble in its transient glory.

    I have looked upon the lapis gardens of noble estates and witnessed the ultramarine depths of mountain lakes, yet never do I find such perfection of shade as in these humble woodland flowers. They are not mere terrestrial blooms but seem messengers from the empyrean realm, bringing down to earth fragments of the firmamental blue that arches high above our temporal dwelling. Their celestial tint speaks to something eternal in the human breast—a recognition of beauty that transcends our brief existence.

    And there in the shadowed wood, the beech trees offer up their fresh young leaves, translucent as finest parchment when held against the vernal sun. How tender is their green! How perfect each unfolding leaf, emerging from its winter bud with a slow and patient certainty that speaks of quiet confidence in renewal. These infant leaves, untouched by summer’s hardening rays or autumn’s gilding hand, possess a purity of essence that stirs within the contemplative mind a sense of wonder at creation’s ceaseless cycle.

    What blessed communion exists between the bluebell’s heaven-reflecting hue and the beech leaf’s innocent green! Together they form a harmony that no earthly musician could compose, a visual poetry that transcends the feeble efforts of human verse. In their glowing presence, my soul, so often clouded by the vapors of worldly care, finds refreshment and illumination, as if some divine voice speaks through these simple woodland treasures, reminding me of truths profound yet easily forgotten in the tumult of our busy days.

    Bluebells

    My other bluebell blogs: My Elusive Dream, Dawn Unveils.

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  • Orange Against Oblivion

    Orange Against Oblivion

    No path, yet I walk.
    The field swallows my footsteps—unclaimed by the past.

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    Selfie Camera for WordPress .selfie-camera-container { max-width: 600px; margin: 40px auto; padding: 25px; background: #f8f9fa; border-radius: 15px; box-shadow: 0 10px 30px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); text-align: center; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, “Segoe UI”, Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, “Helvetica Neue”, sans-serif; border: 1px solid #e0e0e0; } .camera-header { margin-bottom: 25px; } .camera-header h2 { color: #2c3e50; margin-bottom: 10px; font-size: 28px; } .camera-header p { color: #7f8c8d; font-size: 16px; margin-top: 5px; } .camera-feed-wrapper { position: relative; border-radius: 10px; overflow: hidden; background: #000; margin-bottom: 20px; box-shadow: 0 5px 15px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2); } #selfie-video { width: 100%; height: auto; display: block; transform: scaleX(-1); /* Mirror effect */ } .camera-controls { display: flex; justify-content: center; gap: 15px; margin: 20px 0; } .camera-button { padding: 12px 30px; border: none; border-radius: 30px; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; cursor: pointer; transition: all 0.3s ease; display: flex; align-items: center; justify-content: center; gap: 8px; } .camera-button i { font-size: 20px; } #capture-btn { background: #3498db; color: white; box-shadow: 0 4px 0 #2980b9; } #capture-btn:hover { background: #2980b9; transform: translateY(2px); box-shadow: 0 2px 0 #2980b9; } #retry-btn { background: #e74c3c; color: white; box-shadow: 0 4px 0 #c0392b; display: none; } #retry-btn:hover { background: #c0392b; transform: translateY(2px); box-shadow: 0 2px 0 #c0392b; } #result-container { display: none; margin: 25px 0; animation: fadeIn 0.5s ease; } #captured-selfie { max-width: 100%; border-radius: 10px; border: 3px solid white; box-shadow: 0 5px 15px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); } .download-section { margin-top: 20px; display: flex; flex-direction: column; align-items: center; } #download-btn { padding: 12px 30px; background: #2ecc71; color: white; text-decoration: none; border-radius: 30px; font-weight: 600; display: inline-flex; align-items: center; gap: 8px; transition: all 0.3s ease; box-shadow: 0 4px 0 #27ae60; } #download-btn:hover { background: #27ae60; transform: translateY(2px); box-shadow: 0 2px 0 #27ae60; } .permission-msg { background: #fef9c3; border-left: 4px solid #f59e0b; padding: 15px; border-radius: 4px; margin: 20px 0; text-align: left; display: none; } .privacy-note { margin-top: 25px; padding: 15px; background: #f1f2f6; border-radius: 8px; font-size: 14px; color: #7f8c8d; } @keyframes fadeIn { from { opacity: 0; transform: translateY(10px); } to { opacity: 1; transform: translateY(0); } } .camera-icon { font-size: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px; } .loading { padding: 40px 0; color: #7f8c8d; } .loading-spinner { border: 4px solid #f3f3f3; border-top: 4px solid #3498db; border-radius: 50%; width: 40px; height: 40px; animation: spin 1s linear infinite; margin: 0 auto 15px; } @keyframes spin { 0% { transform: rotate(0deg); } 100% { transform: rotate(360deg); } } @media (max-width: 600px) { .selfie-camera-container { margin: 20px 10px; padding: 20px 15px; } .camera-header h2 { font-size: 24px; } .camera-button { padding: 10px 20px; font-size: 14px; } }
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    document.addEventListener(‘DOMContentLoaded’, function() { // Get elements const video = document.getElementById(‘selfie-video’); const canvas = document.getElementById(‘selfie-canvas’); const captureBtn = document.getElementById(‘capture-btn’); const retryBtn = document.getElementById(‘retry-btn’); const resultContainer = document.getElementById(‘result-container’); const capturedImage = document.getElementById(‘captured-selfie’); const downloadLink = document.getElementById(‘download-btn’); const permissionMsg = document.getElementById(‘permission-msg’); const loading = document.getElementById(‘loading’); // Check for camera support if (!navigator.mediaDevices || !navigator.mediaDevices.getUserMedia) { loading.innerHTML = ‘

    Camera not supported in your browser. Please try Chrome, Firefox, or Edge.

    ‘; captureBtn.disabled = true; return; } // Get camera access navigator.mediaDevices.getUserMedia({ video: { facingMode: ‘user’, width: { ideal: 1280 }, height: { ideal: 720 } }, audio: false }) .then((stream) => { video.srcObject = stream; loading.style.display = ‘none’; video.style.display = ‘block’; }) .catch((err) => { console.error(‘Camera error:’, err); loading.innerHTML = ‘

    Could not access camera. Please check permissions.

    ‘; permissionMsg.style.display = ‘block’; captureBtn.disabled = true; }); // Capture button handler captureBtn.addEventListener(‘click’, () => { canvas.width = video.videoWidth; canvas.height = video.videoHeight; const ctx = canvas.getContext(‘2d’); // Mirror the image for natural selfie view ctx.translate(canvas.width, 0); ctx.scale(-1, 1); ctx.drawImage(video, 0, 0, canvas.width, canvas.height); ctx.setTransform(1, 0, 0, 1, 0, 0); // Get image data const imageData = canvas.toDataURL(‘image/png’); capturedImage.src = imageData; downloadLink.href = imageData; downloadLink.download = ‘my-selfie-‘ + Date.now() + ‘.png’; // Show results resultContainer.style.display = ‘block’; captureBtn.style.display = ‘none’; retryBtn.style.display = ‘inline-flex’; }); // Retry button handler retryBtn.addEventListener(‘click’, () => { resultContainer.style.display = ‘none’; captureBtn.style.display = ‘inline-flex’; retryBtn.style.display = ‘none’; }); });

    In the distance, beneath a sky so dark it seemed to swallow thought itself, stood the lone structure — a barn, perhaps, or some forgotten monument to a purpose no longer remembered. It was painted in an orange hue so violently alive that it seemed not to belong in the world at all. It was as if it had been dropped there by mistake — by a careless god or an exhausted architect of realities.

    The field stretched endlessly, yellow and unyielding, like a dream that refuses to end. You could walk toward that building forever and never arrive, each step echoing the quiet futility of your journey. And yet, something in its starkness beckoned, the way a memory calls without context — not with clarity, but with gravity.

    You might say the barn was waiting to be judged, silent and complicit, holding secrets behind its small black door. Perhaps the occupant inside was neither farmer nor fugitive, but a bureaucrat of dreams, tirelessly cataloguing every lost thought you’ve ever had, every version of yourself that you abandoned in moments of doubt.

    Or, on the other hand, you could insist that inside there is a jazz record playing in an empty room. A cat stares at the wall. The air smells faintly of tangerines. And somewhere beneath the floorboards, time folds inward like origami, repeating the same quiet collapse over and over again.

    In this image, the world does not end. It simply pauses — just long enough for you to realize it has always been quietly impossible.

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  • Dreamy waterfall

    Dreamy waterfall

    Behind falls I stand,
    curtain of light, rushing sound,
    moment lost in time.

    Henrhyd, Waterfall

    Henrhyd Waterfall, the tallest waterfall in South Wales, is a stunning hidden gem in the Brecon Beacons. Tucked away in a lush wooded valley, it takes a short but steep walk to reach—but the effort is well worth it. The 90-foot cascade is especially impressive after heavy rain, creating a powerful curtain of water that you can even walk behind. The surrounding area, part of the National Trust’s Nant Llech nature reserve, adds to the secluded and peaceful feel. Whether you’re visiting for photography, a scenic walk, or just to enjoy the natural beauty, Henrhyd Waterfall is a must-see spot.

    Henrhyd Waterfall
    Henrhyd Waterfall
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  • Still waters

    Still waters

    The blue boat sits alone,
    Quiet on the glassy sea,
    No ripples, just the tone
    Of stillness setting free.

    Taken at Fishguard quay

    In the city, Isabelle’s palette was dictated by quarterly reports. Her canvases were billboards, her medium, marketing slogans. She painted desires, not dreams. Once, art had been her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in colour and form, but now it was a transaction—each brushstroke carefully calculated for maximum impact. The aggressive red of SALE, the sterile blue of TRUST, the shimmering gold of LUXURY—they weren’t colours, they were commands.

    Her studio, a pristine white cube perched above a canyon of concrete and steel, was as lifeless as the work she produced. Outside, the city pulsed with a restless urgency, but inside, she sat staring at her latest commission, feeling nothing. Had it always been like this? Had she always felt this hollow? She couldn’t remember the last time she painted something just because she wanted to.

    When she first saw the cottage in the online listing, it was nothing more than a blurry thumbnail, yet something about it stopped her scrolling. It wasn’t charming in the way holiday rentals usually were. The walls leaned slightly, weather-beaten and unapologetic. The loch behind it stretched out into the mist, quiet, infinite. It was not picturesque, but it was still. And suddenly, stillness was all she wanted.

    The journey there felt like shedding a second skin. As the train rattled away from the city, the skyline fading into the distance, something inside her loosened, though she wasn’t sure what. At first, she kept reaching for her phone—out of habit more than anything—but the further she got from mobile towers, the quieter her mind became. It wasn’t just the absence of notifications, emails, deadlines. It was a deeper silence, like a pond settling after a stone has been thrown in.

    The cottage smelled of damp wood and time. It creaked when she walked through it, like an old thing waking up. There was no WiFi, no signal. Just the steady lap of the loch against the shore, the whispering reeds, the occasional call of a distant bird. At first, the quiet unnerved her. She found herself pacing, feeling the itch of a life spent in perpetual motion. Her mind kept trying to measure productivity, to assign value to this pause. What are you doing? Wasting time? What if they forget you? What if you come back and there’s nothing left?

    On the third day, restless and aimless, she wandered down to the shore, her boots sinking slightly into the wet earth. The loch stretched out before her, a perfect mirror of the grey sky. And there, in the shallow water, rocked a small blue boat. Faded, chipped at the edges, the kind of blue that had been softened by years of wind and rain. Something about it pulled at her. It wasn’t just a boat. It was a contrast—a quiet rebellion against the greyness of everything around it.

    She crouched by the water’s edge, picking up a smooth grey stone and rolling it between her fingers. She thought of the screens she used to touch every day, the digital world she had lived in. The cool weight of the stone was real, solid in a way the city never was.

    The next morning, she woke to the sound of rain, soft and insistent against the slate roof. She stood by the window, watching the loch blur and ripple under the downpour. The blue boat rocked gently, unfazed. It was such a small thing, and yet she couldn’t look away. The colours before her weren’t the ones she used in the city—no neon, no artificial sheen. Just deep, shifting greys, softened greens, the quiet persistence of the blue.

    She picked up a brush without thinking. Not the sleek, expensive sable she used for client work, but a worn-out one she found in a drawer. There was no canvas, so she used a piece of driftwood. She didn’t try to replicate the scene exactly. Instead, she let the colours guide her, pulling from something deeper than observation—something she had ignored for too long. The grey of the sky bled into the grey of her exhaustion. The green of the hills became a longing for something real. The blue of the boat—steady, resilient—was a hope she hadn’t known she still carried.

    When she stepped back, her breath caught. It wasn’t a masterpiece. It was raw, uneven, imperfect. But it was hers. A tear slid down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away. It wasn’t sadness. It was something closer to relief.

    Not all days were easy. Some mornings she stared at a blank page for hours, frustration gnawing at her ribs. Some nights, the city’s voice whispered in her ear, reminding her of deadlines and expectations, of the career she was leaving behind. What if you never make it back? What if this is a mistake?

    But then there were moments—standing by the loch, feeling the wind in her hair, watching the way light changed the water—that made it clear she was exactly where she needed to be.

    Her work began to shift. She stopped thinking about what people wanted and started painting what she felt. She no longer cared about marketability. She cared about honesty. The colours on her brush became softer, more grounded, pulled from the land around her rather than the demands of a client brief. She painted the hush of the loch at dawn, the weight of the rain-heavy clouds, the steadfast blue of the little boat that never drifted too far.

    She wasn’t painting products anymore. She was painting silence. She was painting solitude. She was painting her way back to herself.

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  • Pentre Ifan, Pembrokeshire – The Great Undertaking

    Pentre Ifan, Pembrokeshire – The Great Undertaking

    Journal of Caradoc the Builder

    Pembrokeshire, Pentre Ifan,
    6000 years old and home to the fairies 🙂

    Day 1 – The Command

    The chieftain has spoken. A great tomb must be built—one that will stand for generations, a place where the spirits of our ancestors may rest in peace. I, Caradoc, have been chosen to oversee the task. It is an honor, but also a burden. The stones are vast, heavier than any man should be able to move. How can we, with mere hands and ropes, shape such a monument?

    I wish the fair folk would aid us. The elders say the Tylwyth Teg, the fairies of the hills, move stones with ease, whispering to them in a tongue only the earth understands. If only they would come to our aid, lift these great rocks into place, and spare us the toil ahead. But the fair folk are fickle, appearing only when they choose. We must struggle on without them.

    Day 5 – The Stones Resist Us

    The men are weary. We have stripped the strongest oaks to make rollers, twisted the toughest hides into ropes. Yet the stones barely shift. The great capstone, the largest of them all, refuses to move. It is as if the land itself grips it, unwilling to let it rise.

    The night is cold, the wind howling over the hills. I swear I hear laughter in the dark, soft voices on the wind. The fair folk are watching. Do they mock us, or do they test our resolve? If they wished, they could lift the stones as if they were feathers. Yet they remain silent, unseen, leaving the burden to us.

    Day 12 – The Earth Swallows Our Efforts

    The rains have come, turning our labor into a futile struggle. The earth drinks the water greedily, turning to mud, swallowing our stones and filling the pits we have dug. We lose men to exhaustion, to wounds from failing ropes and shifting rock. The tomb fights us at every step.

    At dusk, I leave an offering—honey, fresh milk, and bread—on the highest stone, a gift for the Tylwyth Teg. If they have any mercy, if they still care for the deeds of men, let them aid us now.

    Day 20 – A Change in Fortune

    Something is different. The rains have ceased, the ground has hardened. The men move with renewed strength. Today, we raised the last of the uprights, the stones sliding into place as if the earth finally allows it. Perhaps our offerings have been accepted, or perhaps the fair folk simply tired of watching us struggle.

    Tonight, as the fire crackles, I hear the faintest laughter again, carried on the wind. A whisper, almost playful. Did they push the stones when we were not looking? Or did they merely lift our spirits, lending us unseen strength? I do not know. But I feel their presence all the same.

    Day 25 – The Final Stone

    The capstone rests upon its pillars at last. A gateway between worlds, standing as it should. The tomb is complete. The men cheer, but I say nothing. In the silence of the evening, I sense something beyond us, something watching.

    Perhaps it was never just our strength that built this place. Perhaps, when we were at our weakest, unseen hands helped us. Or perhaps the fair folk simply wished to remind us—magic is not only in the whispers of the wind, but in the determination of men who dare to move the unmovable.

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  • At Nevern, Time Doesn’t Pass—It Pools Around Your Feet

    At Nevern, Time Doesn’t Pass—It Pools Around Your Feet

    A lone traveler stands beneath the towering yew tree in the churchyard of Nevern, Pembrokeshire. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and resin, and the soft hush of wind through the branches is the only sound. A second figure stands beside them, clothed in a long woolen cloak, feet calloused from the road, eyes bright with devotion. Though centuries separate them, they see the same sacred place, feel the same weight of history pressing on their shoulders.

    “Do you see?” The medieval pilgrim gestures toward the Bleeding Yew, the deep red sap weeping from its bark. “They say it bleeds for justice, and it will not stop until the world is fair.” Their voice is heavy with belief.

    The modern visitor runs a hand over the rough bark, watching the slow seep of crimson. “I’ve read about it—some say it’s just a natural phenomenon, something about the tree’s resin reacting to wounds. But still… standing here, it feels like more than that.” They hesitate, then add, “Maybe it does bleed for something. Maybe it always will.”

    The pilgrim nods, satisfied. “Come. There is more to take in.”

    Never, yew tree
    Me and the great Celtic cross

    Together, they walk toward the Great Celtic Cross, its weathered stone rising 13 feet defiantly into the sky. The pilgrim reaches out, tracing the loops and knots carved into its surface. “This is eternity,” they murmur. “No beginning, no end. Just faith, winding on forever.”

    The visitor studies the carvings, fingers brushing lightly over the stone. “It’s amazing. To think of the hands that made this, how many people must have stood before it, just like we are now. Even after all this time, it still stands.”

    “As it should,” the pilgrim replies. “A signpost for those on the road to St David’s. A beacon for the weary pilgrim.”

    Just outside the church. The Vitalianus Stone, carved into a pillar in Ogham and Latin the words “VITALIANI EMERTO” suggests the resting place of an important man named Vitaliani. The two languages hint at ancient connections between pagans and Christians. Its inscriptions whispering secrets from the past that we may never understand. The pilgrim kneels before it, tracing the letters. “He was a leader once, a man of faith and strength. His name endures in stone, even as his body has long turned to dust.”

    The visitor leans in, examining the Latin and Ogham script. “It’s strange. We carve our names into things, thinking it will make us last forever. But in the end, it’s the stories that survive, not the physical marks.”

    The pilgrim smiles. “You understand.”

    Inside the church, cool air wraps around them, thick with the scent of wax and old stone.  On one of the windowsills, they see the Megalocnus Stone, where the marks of the older tongue carve deep into the rock. Megalocnus is referenced as far back as the sixth century, affirming the stone’s age. The visitor shakes their head in wonder. “This writing—Ogham—it’s like the language of the land itself, growing up from the stone.”

    The pilgrim rests a hand against it. “We mark the world, and the world marks us.”

    On another windowsill, they find the Pilgrim’s Cross, shallowly etched into the stone. The modern visitor touches the carving, feeling its rough edges. “So many hands must have traced this over the years.”

    “I made my own mark,” the pilgrim admits, voice quiet. “And those after me, and those after them. We all do. All hoping to pass through life, to the next, peacefully.”

    They pause before the Norman-era Rood Screen, its carved wood forming a delicate boundary between the sacred and the earthly. The visitor runs their hand along its surface. “It’s so intricate. So much work must have gone into this.”

    “Devotion is in the small detail as well as the bigger view,” the pilgrim replies. “In all things, we find the divine.”

    At the 700 year old Medieval Baptismal Font, the pilgrim dips their fingers, letting the cool water trickle over their skin. “A new beginning,” they whisper.

    The visitor hesitates, then does the same. The water is cold against their fingertips, sending a shiver through them. “Some things never change,” they murmur.

    Outside, the old Sundial catches the last light of the afternoon. The visitor laughs softly. “Hundreds of years ago, someone stood right here, checking the time by the same sun we’re looking at now.”

    The pilgrim nods. “And after another thousand, others will do the same.”

    A short walk uphill leads them to the second Pilgrim’s Cross, carved deep into the rock behind the church. The view stretches below them, the land rolling away toward the river. The pilgrim kneels, bowing their head in prayer.

    The visitor stands in silence, breathing in the crisp air. “It must have been hard,” they say at last. “Walking so far, carrying all your hopes with you.”

    The pilgrim exhales, voice full of quiet conviction. “Hope is never a burden. It is the reason we walk.”

    As they walk toward the ruins of Nevern Castle, the shadows grow long. The stones stand witness to battles and prayers lingering in the air.

    “Time is strange here,” the visitor muses. “It doesn’t feel like it’s passing. It just… is.”

    The pilgrim smiles. “At Nevern, time doesn’t pass—it pools around your feet.”

    The modern traveller, now seeped in the church’s history, looking down to their feet, feels a pull to join the age-old pilgrimage. Looking up, they see the ancient pilgrim is making their way–fading into the distance. “God bless!”

    (not my photo)
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