The ancient oak ponders unfathomable tales; near the bank, the shallow water reflects the evening sky. A little further the small stones shine, enticing: come to us, stranger, we are worth more than gold… Soon the sun will sink, behind the hills. You observe, immobile, waiting. Your steed, warped in your Lord’s colours, is as still as you. Silent dwarves guard your precious luggage. This is your land, and the lake is where lived the mage, he who knew how to read your future.
It was an enchanted morning, sunshine and frost, near the lake. Saturdays are special, here in Wedding, calm, unrushed, often luminous. Between the trees, beyond the whitened path, I kept looking. What else is a photographer to do?
A few runners, well ensconced in woollen gear, gentle steps upon the hardened ground.
Then I saw you. You must have been observing me for a while. Suddenly the light changed, overcome by your radiance. You lifted your veil, I stood still, overcome by such beauty, such whiteness on your skin, such blackness in your hair…
Who knows why you chose to elect this sinner for such a gift?
As I got closer to the lake, I then noticed its surface was already frozen.
Inspired by a Saturday morning walk around the Plötzensee. Photography by me (one of the “Parks und Seen” series to be published on my photoblog).
Viviane, the Lady of the Lake, rules Avalon, the mysterious land of the Arthurian legend. She bewitches young Merlin, the magus, who has fallen in love with her, his teacher.
Her gift to the young King Arthur is his sword, Excalibur. She will raise Lancelot, the perfect knight, seeker of the Holy Grail, and for their fate, Queen Guinevere’s lover.
In the souls of celtic people (Welsh, Cornish, Breton) lingers the story of Joseph of Arimathea, who, according to the Gospel of Nicodemus, brought the blood of Christ our Saviour to Brittany.
In the legend Lancelot himself is named “Lancelot du Lac”, in memory of Viviane, his adoptive mother.
The Lancelot-Graal project