| The
view might have come straight out of a child's
painting book; the sky so blue and the clouds
so white, like candy floss. A bright sun shining
over triangular green hills, apple and wild
pear trees in blossom, and red tiled houses
nestling amongst greenery. A long narrow earth
road winds through opium poppy fields whose
purple blooms are not yet in bud, orchards,
and fields of green crops as transparent as
jade in the sun. Its destination is the lake
which lies absorbed in the beauty of its own
reflection. In its spring garb, bedecked with
flowers, its waters shading from pale green
to turquoise and dark blue as they become deeper,
the lake is tranquilly confident of its own
beauty. From the summit of a triangular hill
swathed in pine forest, the lake is like a circular
glass bead surrounded by a gleaming ring of
what looks like powder sugar. It lies alone
in this bowl in the mountains, imaginary clouds
and mountain tops shimmering in its clear blue
mirror. Neither bird nor fish disturbs the water.
|