Sunday, 8 January 2012
The lake in Winter
Part of me - the little boy part, I guess - wants to clamber out along the tree, to see how it feels perched at the end. Probably like sitting on a branch looking out at a lake but somehow, in an undefinable way, it would be better than that.
The lake would be mine, a kingdom of chilly waters enclosed within the hills, their rocks and their wooded banks beside the waters. I could command it, sweep my arm across and see it respond to my presence. I would be its master.
But that isn't to be, I left that magic behind with my nine-year-old self. Now a different spell is cast, I am instead struck by its beauty, the stark appeal of a soft winter scene beside the lake.