The author tapped their pen against the worn notebook, frowning at the blank page. Outside, the hills of west Wales slumbered in an afternoon lull. They were supposed to be writing about wild hills, about the way the mist rolled in, swallowing everything whole. But the words wouldn’t come. Was it because the real hills outside looked so tame, bathed in a weak spring sunshine? Or was it because the very idea of writing about the wildness, the untamed nature of the world, felt utterly inauthentic?
Preseli Hills, Pembrokeshire, Wales
Pen searches for truth, Wild landscape in the mind blooms, More real than the mist.
Anthony
In the fictional world they were trying to build, the mist rolled in with a purpose, a living entity driven by some unknown force. It wasn’t the kind of mist that rolled in most afternoons, shrouding the valleys in a milky haze. This mist was hungry, it devoured the landscape whole, leaving only the skeletal outlines of trees and the ghosts of forgotten ruins.
But here, in the real world, the mist ambled in, a lazy afterthought of a sea breeze. It did little more than dampen the enthusiasm of the ramblers, forcing them to pull on their waterproofs a little earlier. The author sighed. How could they write about a mist that devoured the world when the most dangerous thing the real mist devoured was a tourist’s picnic plans?
An idea flickered. What if the wildness wasn’t in the mist itself, but in the way it exposed the wildness within the characters it touched? The author started to write. The first line came easily: “The mist rolled in, uninvited, as it always did.” This time, the mist wasn’t a malevolent force, but a catalyst. It seeped into the cracks of their lives, revealing the buried anxieties, the unspoken desires. The characters, a young couple on a weekend retreat, found themselves arguing over neglected chores and unspoken resentments, their petty squabbles echoing in the muffled landscape.
The author smiled. The wildness wasn’t in the mist, but in the way it held up a mirror to the human heart. And perhaps, that was a wilder thing after all.
Through ancient paths, seekers stray, Amidst the woods, where my dreams lay. With every step, anticipation looms, Lost in wonder, pure magic blooms.
Anthony
Bluebells and ferns
For weeks, I’d been on the hunt. The elusive bluebell woods, whispered about in hushed tones by fellow nature enthusiasts, had become my personal grail. Everywhere I turned, the internet boasted photos of these magical glades, carpeted in a mesmerising sea of blue. The dream? To capture that scene myself, a vision of sapphire and emerald.
The hunt, however, proved frustrating. One lead sent me down an old muddy farm track where I met a grumpy old muddy farmer. The fleeting window of the bluebell bloom was narrowing, and a sliver of worry began to gnaw at my resolve. Each failed expedition chipped away at my optimism, leaving me with nothing but wellies caked in mud and a knapsack full of disappointment.
Then, on a whim, I decided to explore a barely-there track on the edge of a sleepy village. The rusty gate, its paint peeling like sunburnt skin, its ancient latch, which yielded with a satisfying groan, marked the entrance. Anticipation intensified, the air itself held the sweet promise of spring.
Sunlight, which filtered through the ancient beech tree canopy, dappled the path ahead. Decomposing leaves crunched underfoot, their earthy scent mingling with the fresh, green perfume of emerging life. Primroses peeked out shyly, tendrils of ivy, like scrawny fingers, reached out from the gnarled trunks, and jewel-toned flies buzzed lazily past, their iridescent wings catching the fragmented light.
The first hint of blue came not from a flower, but a flash of a blue tit flitting amongst the branches. It was a prelude, a tease of the main act.
And then, there it was.
Bluebells and beeches
A gasp escaped my lips. The woodland floor wasn’t carpeted, it was engulfed in a breathtaking sea of bluebells. Their delicate, bell-shaped blooms swayed gently in the afternoon breeze, the blue contrasting effortlessly with the verdant young beech leaves. In that moment, my world seemed to shrink to this small glade, all my worries and anxieties melting away.
Beside this breathtaking display, another patch of magic unfolded. Lush green ferns, unfurling their delicate fronds, created a textural contrast with the smooth bluebells. This wasn’t just a carpet of colour, it was a living, breathing artwork, a masterwork of nature.
My frustrations melted away entirely, replaced by a profound sense of wonder. Here, in this hidden haven, I had found not just a breathtaking scene to capture, but a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. I suppose the photographs were a reason to search, but being here is what I really wanted. The elusive bluebells had revealed their secret, they had gifted me a memory that would forever be etched in my heart.
White on white, a world subdued, Nature’s hush, a solitude. Swans like whispers on the stream, A frozen dream, a tranquil theme.
Anthony
It was a bit chilly
This image depicts a tranquil scene of two swans gliding gracefully across a wintery river. The artist has captured the elegance of the swans with their long, slender necks and pristine white feathers. The artist has used subtle brushstrokes to depict the movement of the water as the swans glide effortlessly through it.
In the background, the artist has rendered a detailed landscape of trees laden with snow. The use of a subtle colour palette, with browns and whites, creates a sense of winter’s chill. The artist has skillfully captured the way the snow blankets the trees, creating a sense of peace and serenity.
The use of light and shadow is reminiscent of the works of the Dutch Golden Age masters, such as Jan van Eyck or Pieter Bruegel the Elder. The artist has used light to highlight the whiteness of the swans and the snow, creating a sense of calm and tranquillity.
Overall, the image is a beautiful and serene portrayal of a winter landscape. The artist has skillfully captured the elegance of the swans and the beauty of the wintery scene.
Situated in the heart of the Brecon Beacons National Park, renowned for its natural beauty and industrial heritage, the area around the small village of Pontneddfechan adds its own little slice of magic to the area by way of lush green, steep sided valleys and beautiful waterfalls.
Sgwd Gwladys (Lady Falls)
Special Photographic Features. On this short walk, the highlights are the four main waterfalls shown on the map below:
A little guide
The Village of Pontneddfechan. Yes it’s a mouthful and it took me a year or so to remember it and learn how to say it. As well as convenient parking at the Angel Pub, also handy for lunch or a pint after your walk, there is a waterfall information centre just across the road where you can get helpful local knowledge about the falls. Also in the village there is a small groceries shop and public toilets.
The walk. From the car park, follow the river up along a mainly flat, sometimes muddy track, so boots are advised. At this point you’re retracing the remains of an old mining tramway which once serviced the silica mines further up river (some of the stone rail supports are still visible). The Rock was used to make world famous fire bricks.
Amidst Wales’ embrace, Pontneddfechan’s waters dance, Nature’s hymn is sung.
Anthony
Keep on the left bank as the river splits near the bridge. We’ll be crossing this on the way back. On this tributary is the first of the larger waterfalls.
Sgwd Gwladys (Lady Falls)
Stream Of Light
Named after St. Gwladys (Born c.AD 460), daughter of King Brychan of Brycheiniog. This is the tallest waterfall, at about 20ft, of the four I’m covering: Sgwd Gwladys or Lady Falls in English. This beautiful Falls makes for some interesting shots, usually having dead tree trunks in the plunge pool, which look good in the foreground of shots and you can also take from behind the falls looking down the valley. I’ve also seen photos from the top which look good, but I’ve not got up there so far. I’ll have to make the effort one day as apparently there’s another falls a kilometre upstream which named after St Gwladys’ lover Einon Gam.
The path is easy as far as it goes but, as always, getting close in to find the great shots is tricky. When I’ve been there it’s easy to cross the river at this point, which you have to do to get behind the falls.
On one visit here, a fellow photographer had brought his willing wife and her wedding dress along and planned to photograph her in the dress, in the water (a practice apparently known as “trashing the dress”). Each to their own. Unfortunately, she was still changing in the tent they’d brought when I left; I think she was reluctant to come out with other people around.
An interesting tale surrounding thin falls is the story of a 12th century priest, Elidorus, who, at the age of twelve ran away from his cruel teacher and hid near these falls. Two small, golden haired people of the underworld found him and took him down to their world.
Horseshoe Falls.
Ghostly Falls
A double drop to this one. The above photo is of the first drop of about 5 feet which curves nicely, giving the fall its name. Be careful here as the rocks are very slippery – to take this shot I’m kneeling right on the edge and have my camera resting on my woolly hat on a rock as a tripod. Just to the right the river narrows to squeeze between the rocks, increasing its power, and drops another 12 feet or so. There’s good angles from below, where an oak tree overhangs and you can get both falls in the shot.
Lower Ddwli Falls.
Go with the flow
The next falls you’ll reach is Lower Ddwlli falls. You may overshoot this one as you have to leave the path some time before the actual falls and walk up the river. You could come off the path by the falls but it’s very steep and dangerous. Also, the rocks here are usually slippery so take care. There is another small falls just to the right of this photo which curves round, making for good photos, especially if you can get both in – this means standing in the river.
Sgwd Y Ddwli.
Fairytale Waterfall in Wales
Despite not being very tall (about 12ft), Upper Ddwli Falls is, I think, the prettiest of the falls and has a fairytale feel to it. It’s better to visit a little later as the sun comes around on it – unless you want the sun shining through the trees which can be beautiful with the bare trees in winter. This waterfall has an easy approach from the top too which could make for some interesting shots (I’ve yet to succeed).
Not far up river from here is another car park at Pont Melin Fach although it’s quite hard to find by car.
Best time of day/year. Each season has its good points, although it’s nice when the trees are lush green and autumn is good for catching trails of leaves swirling in the water in the long exposure shots.
Late evening is an interesting time for long exposures of the falls, but I wouldn’t advise night photography as the falls are too dark and the sky is usually obscured by trees.
Special equipment. A tripod is essential for the long exposure shots to get the silky water effect. I find anything from half a second up makes for good results. A polarised filter to reduce reflection, and, since I don’t have a neutral density filter, it’s also handy in helping push up the exposure times on sunny days. I also suggest sturdy boots as you’ll probably end up scrambling across the slippery rocks to get that “perfect” shot.
Getting there. Leave the M4 at Junction43 towards Neath and follow the A465. Turn off at Glyn-neath and follow the B4242 to Pontneddfechan.
Nearby. Five miles up the A4221, near the village of Coelbren is Henrhyd Falls, South Wales’ highest falls.
As the misty veil of dawn begins to lift, two hares materialise in the midst of a field of bluebells, their forms emerging from the swirling fog like apparitions from another realm. With no recollection of how they came to be, the hares find themselves surrounded by a serene landscape, the air heavy with the scent of dew-kissed flowers.
Confusion grips the hares as they take in their surroundings, their senses heightened by the enigmatic mist that envelops them. They exchange wary glances, their instincts tingling with a mixture of apprehension and wonder at their sudden appearance in this new world.
As they tentatively explore their new environment, the hares feel a strange connection between them, an invisible thread that binds their fates together. Though they may be strangers to one another, they find solace in each other’s presence, drawing strength from the silent companionship that bridges the gap between them.
With each step they take, the hares become acutely aware of the pulse of life that thrums beneath the surface of the world around them, the rhythm of nature echoing in their hearts. Though they may not yet understand the purpose behind their arrival, they feel a sense of anticipation stirring within them, a whisper of destiny calling them forward into the unknown.
As the sun breaks through the mist, casting its warm glow upon the field of bluebells, the two hares stand poised on the threshold of discovery, ready to embrace the adventure that lies ahead. In this moment of infinite possibility, they surrender themselves to the whims of fate, knowing that whatever trials may await them, they will face them together, bound by the unbreakable bond of kinship and courage.
Buy a lovely notepadTap to view my redbubble gallery.
“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 moonlightIf you find this content inspiring and uplifting, consider supporting what I do. Buy me a coffee on Ko-fi. Your support makes a difference in my life and helps me create more of what you, and I, like. Thank you!Tap to view my redbubble gallery.
“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 paintingTap to view my redbubble gallery.
Photography, at its core, is a dance with serendipity. It’s an art that thrives on capturing moments of beauty, wonder, and the unexpected. The magic of photography lies in being in the right place at the right time, a concept that couldn’t be more evident than in your two striking images.
Sun kisses the sea Tap to view my redbubble gallery.
In the first photograph, the sun seems to have carefully settled upon the water’s surface, casting a golden path that glistens like liquid fire. It’s a visual marvel that reminds us of the exquisite alignment of celestial bodies and the fleeting nature of light. To capture this moment required being present at that precise instant when the sun kissed the sea, illuminating both with a warm, ethereal glow. It’s as if nature conspired with the photographer, inviting them into its grand performance for a brief, exquisite encore.
Lucky White horse Tap to view my redbubble gallery.
The second image, featuring a rainbow emerging behind a white horse, is equally mesmerising. Rainbows have long held a mythical allure, symbolising hope, promise, and the ephemeral nature of beauty. In this instance, the horse, symbolising grace and freedom, stands at the confluence of earth and sky, while the rainbow, a harmonious blending of light, forms a breathtaking arch. To capture such a scene requires more than just photographic skill; it calls for patience and an almost spiritual connection with the world around us.
In both instances, the photographer found themselves at the intersection of perfect timing and sheer luck. They harnessed the magic of the natural world and transformed it into two timeless images, reminding us that the beauty of our world is ever-present, but often hidden, waiting for us to be in the right place at the right time to reveal itself.
But being in the right place at the right time is not solely a matter of happenstance. It requires patience and persistence, a willingness to wait for that perfect alignment of elements. It involves understanding that each moment carries its own unique narrative, waiting to be captured. The most captivating photographs often emerge when the photographer embraces the unpredictability of life.
These photographs are a testament to the enchantment of the universe and the photographer’s gift for seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary. In a world that often moves too fast to notice the subtle wonders around us, they invite us to pause, to appreciate the beauty of happenstance, and to understand that the lens through which we view the world can often be our most powerful tool for capturing the fleeting moments that make life truly extraordinary.
Upon yonder snow-kissed peak, I stand, a lone voyager, a wanderer in a world dressed in pristine white. The valley below, a cradle of dreams and whispered tales, beckons to my very soul. In this moment, I am possessed by a longing, a fervent desire to defy gravity’s chains, to soar as if I were a feather carried by the winds of eternity.
Standing atop a snow-covered peak, I’m reminded that nature is the purest form of poetry
View form Pen-y-fan in the Brecon Beacons, Wales. Tap to view my redbubble gallery.
The valley, a canvas of undulating shadows and glistening promises, unfolds before my eyes, an expanse of dreamscape and memory. The world, adorned in the icy silence of winter, is a chalice of endless possibility, where the spirits of all that once was, and all that could be, commune in a timeless dance.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the valley, my heart quickens with a fierce yearning to leap from this precipice. To become one with the soaring eagles, to taste the air of the gods, and to trace my path across the heavens with wings of dreams.
But, alas, I am bound by the earthly tether, my feet planted on this frozen throne. Yet, in my mind’s eye, I am unburdened, a phoenix ascending, liberated from gravity’s relentless grip. The valley below whispers secrets of flight, of dreams unfettered, and for a brief moment, I am convinced that I could fly, for I am a poet of the heart, embracing the universal longing to transcend the ordinary and become part of the elemental poetry of the world.
The art of just being is a gift that we can give ourselves. It is a gift that can help us to live happier and more fulfilling lives
I took this a few years ago in North Wales. Tap to see my red bubble gallery
The beauty of this photo is that it is open to interpretation; who knows what lays beyond the mist. It is a reminder that there is beauty to be found in all things, even in the simple and everyday. It is also a reminder that inspiration can come from anywhere, even from a simple photo.
The fog itself is a reminder of the mystery and wonder of life. It is a reminder that there is always more to be discovered, even in the familiar. It is also a reminder that it is okay to not have all the answers.
The art of just being is about slowing down and appreciating the beauty of the present moment. It is about letting go of our worries and fears, and simply being present in our own skin. It is about connecting with nature and with ourselves.
Here are some thoughts on the art of just being, inspired by this photo:
Allow yourself to be open to interpretation Don’t try to force a specific meaning onto the photo. Instead, let the photo speak to you on a personal level. What does the photo make you think of? What emotions does it evoke?
Pay attention to the details Notice the way the fog dances around the tree. Notice the branches reaching up to the sky. Notice the leaves that are still clinging to the tree, even in the winter.
Use the photo as a starting point for your own creativity Write a poem or a story inspired by the photo. Paint a picture of the scene. Compose a piece of music. Let me know what you create; the possibilities are endless.
Horse’s steady gazeStrengthful eyes that dare to meetChallenge accepted Courage is the strength to face… Read more: Darkness, Power and Beauty
Daffodil so brightGolden petals, sunshine’s kissHope blooms anew As I wander through the garden, the… Read more: The Daffodil’s Song: A Lyrical Tribute to the Wonders of Spring
The Graceful Lines of an Acanthus Leaf. Acanthus is a genus of flowering plants native… Read more: Acanthus: A Versatile Plant with a Rich Cultural Heritage
Anthony's Literary Lens 
You must be logged in to post a comment.