Three in the morning at the hotel window. Pitch black night. The contours of the trees are absorbed by an impenetrable blackness. Not a sound, not a single one. No owl calls in the distance, no wind whistles through the leaves, no raindrops hit the roof, absolutely nothing. Somehow beautiful and irritating at the same time. This reminds me of one of the famous novels...
Alpine Panorama Trail – Alone again, naturally
I know that sound - the slapping on the window, the pattering on the roofs, the drumming on the asphalt. It's just after midnight and it's raining. It has also become cold, a frosty breath comes through the open window, and for the first time in a long time I am grateful for a warm blanket. Wonderful prospects for…