It wasn’t a particularly pretty lake all things considered. I mean, as they go, lakes are usually quite easy on the eye, but this one didn’t have much in the way of extras. No swans. Sometimes an adventurous pigeon or two pecked about a bit on the shore but, and I mean no disrespect to pigeons by this, they’re hardly swans now are they?
No fountain either. There is a bench, of course, I mean, there’s always a bench. But this isn’t ornate or wrought, it’s just wooden and plain and utilitarian. Doesn’t even commemorate anyones life or death. Nobody sat here and contemplated life. The scenery didn’t inspire great romantic protestations and it would be unlikely to have been the setting for any great proposals. Or little proposals. Possibly an uneasy snog but hardly the stuff of poetry.
This is what you would think if you saw this lake. You might not even realise but you would scan and judge it quickly and then you would walk on and you would possibly not think of it again. You would, however, be very wrong.
This lake is more than it seems. Right now for example, the only people here are that harried young slip of a thing and her rowdy toddler. She is trying very hard to keep him out of the water and he is waging an equally determined campaign to thwart her. He ambles away on the grass as if he’s not in the least bit interested in any water, ‘what water?’ his body language screams and then he doubles back as quick as Owen and she has to intercept him again. Neither seem tired of this dance, though I have my money on the boys energy outlasting his captors.
What they don’t know though, what no-one knows, is what is hidden in those waters. Shall I tell you? I believe I can tell you safely as you couldn’t find that lake again even if you tried.
In the middle of the water, just under the surface, what a surprise you would find.
If you could hire boats, which of course you can’t, because, as I think we’ve covered, it’s just not that sort of lake. If you could though, and you pulled yourself out, gently across the top of the water, paddle by paddle, stroke by stroke. And if you stopped in the middle and leaned gingerly over the edge – can you see her? As you look down, you might think it was your own reflection at first, but it’s not is it? You can see her, can’t you? Perfectly formed, perfectly preserved, she is there. She looks a bit like Mary Poppins, but that could just be the umbrella still held at a jaunty angle out to the side. She’s wearing a long mac and a small hat is still neatly pinned on her head. She looks like she could step up out of that water at any time and join us. She looks like she could do this, but of course she can’t. She is there forever, as she has already been there forever. Unknown. Unmissed.
Copyright © 2008 Rob Richardson. All Rights Reserved.