By the Lakeside
This is the first post in a series called Armchair Travel. It’s not a travel guide or a list of ‘must do’ things; it is simply the photos I took interspersed with the notes that I wrote in my notebook.
By the Lakeside:
“I am at the lakeside watching the clouds rise and roll over the high peaks set over the greenish water. There is peace here. Quietude. The sense of being in the company of others much older than I – the cliffs; those sentinels; eternal observers; guardians of the lake perhaps? Last night the lake was celestial. Water like liquid silver with a heavy mist hanging over every upright shape; transforming them; softening everything into pastel colours. There must be legends here, there is too much magic for a human mind not to have been driven deep into its own imagination.
How many people have sat here, at this lakeside, over thousands of years? How many people have watched the clouds, felt the freshness of a breeze over the water, the steady presence of the rock? And before that? What has lived here, thrived, died and decayed? And why do we feel the need to set ourselves so much apart from that? Is it our collective fear of death? That which makes us cling to life, to our possessions, to what we think we can control… I wish we used the word ancestor more.”
© Carys Shannon, September 2020.