After a heavy storm on a hot summer’s day, when everything is still quiet and steaming, the lake near my home has an almost J.G.Ballardian feel about it.
“In the early morning light a strange mournful beauty hung over the lagoon; the sombre green-black fronds of the gymnosperms, intruders from the Triassic past, and the half-submerged white-faced buildings of the 20th century still reflected together in the dark mirror of the water, the two interlocking worlds apparently suspended at some junction in time, the illusion momentarily broken when a giant water spider cleft the oily surface a hundred yards away.”
— J. G. Ballard, The Drowned World