It is the sacred hour: above the far
Low emerald hills that northward fold,
Calmly, upon the blue the evening star
Floats, wreathed in dusky gold.
The winds have sung all day; but now they lie
Faint, sleeping; and the evening sounds awake.
The slow bell tolls across the water: I
Am haunted by the spirit of the lake.
“Lake Leman”, Harold Monro, Before Dawn, 1911
Instant crush – that’s what I felt when I first saw Leman/Geneva lake. Smooth mountains disappearing in the water, so deep and infinite, tender and transparent, almost unreal in the golden light of setting sun. Perfect grace and absolute serenity.
Let the spirit of the lake haunt you:
Bank somewhere in between Saint Sulpice and Ouchy:
From somewhere in the mountains, had a 7-hours trek and get totally lost (and a little bit frightened, imagining bears behind every tree in the dark mountain forest – don’t know if there are any bears in Switzerland but still) – but it was worth a view: