Today I visited a lake near me, tempted out into the cold by rare cloudless skies and deceivingly warm sunshine. The lake was framed by shining white mountains, with a cold breeze blowing and lit with warm sunlight which reflected off the surface of the water like balls of stardust. It was a wonderfully peaceful, beautiful scene. I always think that winter and early spring are the best times to visit the lake. There are few tourists and the view is unspoiled by the heat haze present in later seasons.
I took my Olympus film camera with me. It is a refreshing feeling to carry a film, rather than a digital camera. There is a certain freedom. I enjoy the limited amount of photos. It forces me to consider them carefully, rather than snapping away endless photos (as I tempted to do when I have a digital camera in hand).
Eventually I put the camera away and just enjoyed the moment. I sat on a jetty which reaches out quite far onto the lake. It was easy to imagine that I wasn’t on land at all, The jetty swayed slightly with the wind, and the gently lapping waves bumped against my feet. On one side of the jetty, waves rose and fell with a gently energy. The waves were slightly shadowed and slightly bluer than the still sunny waters on the other side. There was an uninterrupted view of the mountains, yet I couldn’t stare for long, the sun reflecting off the snowy peaks was blinding. Instead I watched the swans. They were quiet and peaceful, sleeping and diving on the still side of the jetty.
Eventually, I realised that my shoes were wet, dipped slightly too far into the lake. It seemed a signal to leave, the wind had become colder with inactivity. I walked away, looking behind all the while. It was a beautiful, peaceful way to while away a sunny winter afternoon. Particularly, as I’d spent the morning watching and yearning to be outside. This evening I’ll hopefully be walking up a nearby hill with my dad. The views should be lovely, especially if we catch the sunset.