As the time for romanticism, springtime awakens those age-old escapist desires, those topoi of rambling, of fording horizons. While it'd be foolish to pretend there is anything more profoundly Celtic than etymology there, at winding shores of Jizera - Isère - the time pretends to stand still, to erase those social memories of two thousand years of change.
Of spruce forests as a cultural landscape, of medieval hunting for gems in the embrace of peat bogs, of poachers and smugglers walking local paths, of the fleeting epoch of glassworks erected high among alpine meadows, of the Expulsion of Germans, of Black Triangle still vividly represented by the nearby crime called KWB and Elektrownia Turów.
Here we stand, at the Great Jizera Meadow, surrounded by landscape seemingly little affected by us Sapiens, but, in fact, almost left for dead a mere four decades ago. It's the time of spring, time of refreshing, and perhaps, for us humans, the time of searching for meanings.
From Jizerka to Jizerka through meadows and rocks and woods of "Jizerky".
(Planar 50 ZM)