Small river stream runs violently down the hill. Long winter shadows line the hillside. Skiers swish past me. Dark contours of bare trees against white snow fringe the land. Winter is ending.
Freezing wind and warm sun both hit my face. I am looking at the horizon. Why does being here surrounded by these enigmatic mountains feels unreal in some way?
It is as if the hills, mountains, valleys and streams speak of the Earth past. Perhaps they talk of the times when continents were still in motion, when continents and islands moved and interlocked with one another, when hundreds of small pieces of crust floated on the mantle and rocks broke into pieces, forming new land.
This feels fantastic. I take off to ski down to the ski lift. My little boy is already in the queue impatiently, awaiting my arrival. I stop just behind him and hug him. He is so excited to be going up again. As the lift slowly pulls us along the slope I still cannot help but to wonder: why being this close to the mountains feels so powerful and different?