Lake Thun

It was one of those rare moments in life when circumstances conspired to produce absolute perfection. A breathtakingly beautiful scene which compelled him to pull into the side of the road, scramble from his car and bear witness.

The lake was silent, mirror still and glacial green. The mountains and forests on the far side reproduced in perfect mirror image on the water: the whole wonderful vista bathed in cobalt blue sky and caressed by gentle gossamer breeze.

In sympathetic reverence, the distant lake steamer ghosted gently across the scene in graceful silence; its slow progress signified only by a bow wave gently coaxed aside and the iconic Swiss flag fluttering gently from the stern. The October palette rendered a warmth to this masterpiece. A riot of golds, browns and yellows reflected from the surrounding forests onto this liquid canvas. Above all, the absolute silence; the stillness; the calm.

How long could such perfection last before it would melt away? How long would the bubble float on the breeze before it expired? The answer was not important, for this God-given moment was already firmly painted into the psyche and would sit in the gallery of his mind alongside 'The Fighting Temeraire' and the 'Girl with the Pearl Earring' : images forever freely called to mind.

Suddenly, the distant piercing blast of the ship's whistle echoed across the lake, puncturing his reverie. The steamer turned away from him; called to a distant landing stage on the far shore. The moment was not so much shattered as being gently and subtly led away from him. He continued to gaze across the lake as the striking red and white flag faded into the distance.

He smiled broadly and returned to his car feeling a sense of great privilege; now an infinitely better human being.