Nightstill

Cloud clusters rush over the peaks of the Dachstein mountain range ac­companied by fragmented sounds. Lights wink like Morse code behind the windows of remote mountain stations. Ski-lift cabins whoosh past like mysterious flying objects. Rocks are shrouded in thick fog. Here and there, people appear, like phantoms in the snow. The moon rises, glows, sinks and disappears, only to rise again – and again.