We had a beautiful summer: warm, long, sunny days. Summer in the mountains is made up of a still light, an estranged sense of wonder. That’s when rain crashed down to the ground: nurturing rain, life for plants, giving them invigorating droplets of life. And yet we can’t seem to grasp its beauty.
The firs suffer, and even the mountain pine sports yellow branches. After so much sun, everything needs water. Even our guests seemed relieved on the first downpour, “Now we can rest”. On the second day, you could feel their restlessness, spurred by a sense of ennui they couldn’t control. Something must be done, and fast, before thoughts, anxieties, and fears of not moving become too much, stumbling with the ineptitude of looking at our own reflection in the mirror. Some guests took the car and went to Cortina, “Traffic was a nightmare, though”, or Innsbruck “It was packed with people …” and Munich was also another option, “It’s a long journey there and back, though”.
Sometimes I ask myself if the car is the only means of transportation for us humans.