The lake was glimmering in the callow light of dawn. Local legend had it that a giant hand had scooped out a gash of rock aeons ago. Then a great heap of argent-silver was moulded and poured into it, hemmed in by precipitous hills.
A broad span of Tuscany-blue sky was slashed above it, making it appear like nature’s amphitheatre. The hollowness of the valley magnified all sounds, from burbling streams to the bumble of bees. The visage of the lake was veneer-clear and tranquil, flanked by an avenue of cedar trees. There was feng-shui perfection to the scene, while the water was gilded with moonlight-pale lilies. Plip-plopping fish caused concentric rings to puff out and disappear as the air hummed all around us. A phalanx of flies was patrolling the water’s edge, called into service by the heaven-filtering light.
Tolkein-esque ferns swayed beside a brook that spiralled down from a turf moor. The water had a peaty texture, but pools of molten gold lay naked in the light. At the bottom, smooth-edged stones glowed amber with a witchery uncommon to the modern world. I sat on a rock, admiring the glorious lustre of the water. The dale fell confessional-quiet. I had an alleluia moment then and yearned for a time when the world was young. A small thorn had spiked my foot, but it didn’t break my reverie. The rain-winkled grass cast a silver sheen and the dewy air was laden with cedar-sweet smells. On impulse, I reached down and sipped from the stream. The taste was a mixture of rosewater and chalybeate that thrilled the tongue.
With a sigh, I got up forged my way homewards. It was a place with an eldritch beauty all of its own. I resolved to return one day to this halcyon paradise.