What is it that I love about the mountains? Is it the shape, the one I remember I used to draw as a kid, the grandeur on such a scale that easily outsize anything ever made by man, or just the special kind of atmosphere that always seems to linger around these giants.
This is a striking mountain. I couldn’t stop looking at it, and just like with a beautiful women, you seem to notice a new set of attractive details with each pass your eyes make.
The light was soft, the sun generous but the clouds were restrictive, creating deep, strong and wide shadows. At the end it didn’t matter, only giving the whole sight a rich, painting like quality.
Enough talking. Indulging in beauty is a hard job, I know that better than anyone, and the moment is perfect for a rest-stop. The usual muffin and a flat white would give me enough strength to push the release button until the day expires, but where? That’s an easy one – the mountain house on the slopes of the volcano, where else.