It was around noon when I arrived at the foot of the mountain, where nature and quiet human effort seemed to exist in peaceful harmony. The sun was high, casting soft light over the land, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves of small trees that dotted the landscape. In front of me stretched a calm lake, its surface glimmering like a sheet of glass, reflecting the gentle outline of the surrounding hills.
The lake wasn’t large or deep—it had a humble charm, more like a delicate bowl nestled between the arms of the mountain. Small trees grew near the edge of the water, their thin trunks slightly bent, as though they too were leaning in to admire the lake. Their leaves rustled gently, adding a soft whisper to the silence. Scattered all around were stones—some large and weathered, others small and sharp—placed naturally, as if by the hand of time itself. A few had been arranged in quiet artistic ways, forming low borders, little paths, or places to sit and reflect. It was clear that human hands had touched this land, but only lightly, respectfully, like guests in a sacred space.
Water flowed down gently from the mountain, creating a small stream that trickled into the lake. It wasn’t a powerful rush, but a quiet, steady rhythm—like the mountain breathing. The sound of the water added a soothing music to the air, echoing softly among the stones.
Surprisingly, in this tranquil setting, I noticed signs of life beyond nature. A few small companies or workshops stood nearby—low buildings made of wood and stone, blending into the scenery rather than disturbing it. Smoke rose lazily from a chimney, and here and there I could see workers moving slowly, perhaps taking a midday break. They seemed to work with nature rather than against it, their presence a part of the landscape’s rhythm rather than a disruption.
I walked slowly along the edge of the lake, letting the quiet soak into me. The afternoon light shimmered across the water. A few dragonflies skimmed the surface. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the soft chime of a bell.
This place didn’t shout its beauty—it whispered it, gently, inviting only those who were willing to slow down and listen. A strange and lovely natural beauty—simple, raw, and deeply calming. Here, beneath the mountain, beside the water, surrounded by stone and silence, I felt a kind of peace I hadn’t known I needed.
