It was a long lake and a road. It was, I told Jane that moment, “a very simple sight.” A long stretch of water, with the kind of things one would associate with a lake, and a road, twisting parallel to the lake, and not doing much more.
The sky purple, the usual tone of blue for that time of the year in the lake, the trees brushing and tumbling against each other.
Ten kilometers away, a calmness swept through the northern towns and their empty streets. One that would cross the lake lifting gushes of water, and surged through our house and its corridors of doors and courtains. Which made silence with the trees in the back garden, shooting its way up the eastern side of the ridge.
The sky purple, the usual tone of blue for that time of the year in the lake, the trees brushing and tumbling against each other.
Ten kilometers away, a calmness swept through the northern towns and their empty streets. One that would cross the lake lifting gushes of water, and surged through our house and its corridors of doors and courtains. Which made silence with the trees in the back garden, shooting its way up the eastern side of the ridge.
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