The lake and the mountains have become my landscape, my real

Hear the words of Georges Simenon, the great teller of human stories, who declared: “The lake and the mountains have become my landscape, my real world.” In this reflection, he speaks not only of scenery but of a deeper belonging, a union between the human soul and the eternal forms of nature. For man, weary of the noise and transience of cities, finds solace in what endures: the stillness of waters, the majesty of peaks. In them, Simenon found not a backdrop to life, but life itself—the world more real than any fleeting stage of society.

The lake symbolizes calmness, reflection, and depth. Its surface may be tranquil, but beneath lies hidden mystery, silent and profound. The mountains, on the other hand, rise with strength, immovable, ancient, enduring through centuries of storm and sun. Together, they form a harmony: water and stone, stillness and height, softness and power. To say that they became his landscape is to say that they became his teachers, shaping his vision of reality more than books, more than politics, more than human affairs.

The ancients too turned to the eternal forms of the earth. The Stoic philosopher Seneca taught that the soul is healed by contemplating the stars and seas, for in them one perceives the order of nature and remembers one’s place within it. The poets of China found the same in mountains and rivers, praising them not merely for their beauty but for the wisdom they gave to the heart. To dwell among them was to dwell in truth, to live in the rhythm of eternity rather than the illusions of man’s fleeting concerns.

History gives us examples of those who, like Simenon, found their true world not in courts or cities, but in nature’s embrace. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, walking by the waters of Lake Geneva, declared that he learned more from the trees and streams than from the philosophers of Paris. Henry David Thoreau, at Walden Pond, found in the lake his mirror and in the woods his sanctuary. In their solitude, they discovered that the real world is not the marketplace of man, but the unchanging grandeur of nature.

The meaning of Simenon’s words is that there comes a time when man must choose what he calls real. The affairs of men—politics, wealth, ambition—are loud but temporary, like passing clouds. The lake and the mountains, by contrast, remain. They anchor the soul, offering silence in a world of noise, permanence in a world of change, depth in a world of superficiality. To claim them as one’s landscape is to renounce illusion and cling to what is eternal.

The lesson is clear: each of us must find our own landscape, the place where our soul feels at home, where truth becomes simple and clear. It may be a lake, a forest, a desert, or the wide sky itself. Without such a place, the heart is tossed endlessly by the tides of men’s ambitions. With it, one has a refuge, a compass, a mirror. This is not to abandon the world of men, but to remember that beyond it there is a greater world, and that world is where the soul is strengthened.

What, then, are the practical actions? Step away often from the noise of society. Seek out the lake or the mountain near you, or whatever form of nature calls to your spirit. Let it remind you of what is real, let it silence your anxieties, let it teach you patience and endurance. Carry its wisdom back into your daily struggles, so that even when you walk among men, you carry in your heart the stillness of the waters and the strength of the peaks.

Thus the words of Georges Simenon endure: “The lake and the mountains have become my landscape, my real world.” Take them as a reminder that what is eternal lies not in the noise of fleeting affairs, but in the silence of nature. And if you would live wisely, let your soul drink deeply of the waters and rest upon the mountains, for in them you will find your truest self.