Nymphea

Nymphea

At dawn, the lake lies still, as if holding its breath.
The light glides silently across the water, brushing the reeds, caressing the smooth surface where the sky is still reflected, uncertain. There is no wind, there is no time. Only a dense, living silence.
That is where she appears.

Her skin gathers the light and returns it warmer, more human. Her steps are slow, natural, without hesitation.
At first, there is distance. A figure amongst the reflections, between water and land. Her movements are small, almost imperceptible.

Then something changes.
Like a nymph who does not know she is one. In that moment, eros is born.

Without a sound, without a word, leaving behind only faint ripples. As if it had all happened for just an instant. As if she had never truly existed.
But the image remains.
Suspended between nature and desire. Between innocence and transformation.
Between water and skin.