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One Sunday in summer, after a week of wheat harvest, a wealthy farmer decided, despite the disapproval of his wife, to fade from his fields in the Lord's day. At dusk the storm rumbled in the distance and lightning fell on all sides near the river. After his last stroke of the fork, the farmer whipped up his horses in the hope to be back before the summer showers. He had not reached the limits of his near the lightning struck. The violence was such that the earth opened, engulfing the peasant and his team. A downpour fell and swelled the river to flood. The meadows of the poor man disappeared under the water flows and mud and remained long after the return of the sun. Thus, by the wrath of God, Lake Sewen was born. No trace of the farmer. Prisoner of the murky waters of the lake, its spectrum is wandering from dusk until dawn, amid the neighing and gnashing of broken wagon ...