Friday, September 29, 2006
Standing behind the lady at the hotel balcony I was pondering the difference between the mountains in the distance and the mountains pictured in the fold-out postcard that she held close to her body. It was difficult for me to lean over and take a look for any satisfying length of time before she shuffled off once more and I had to follow her surreptitiously to regain my vantage point. Each time I peered over to take a look the apparent distinction between the two visions of landscape grew ever more blurred. Their tinted ice blue slopes and whiter than white peaks glowed in the thin air. A cloak of trees hung as if a large crayon had haphazardly scribbled itself with increasing density around the uppermost tips, dropping to fill in the valley floor with a carpet of loosely stippled vermilion gestures, adding layered marks of burnt sienna and viridian green to give textured cover to over around about I’d say fifty percent of the white postcard background.
After chancing a closer look I think I interpreted some far away figures wandering in the distance; tiny clusters of opposite colours sprinkled like confetti across a faded blue horizon. From a distance Skiers maybe, possibly holiday makers.
She looked up at me as I lurched away giving me a look of sharp indignation, apparently perturbed I thought by my increasing scrutiny of her paraphernalia. With her hand wrapped in a velvet glove around the series of mountain ranges packed together again she swiftly removed them from my view by slotting them into her jacket top pocket, whilst staring at me with a look of deep suspicion.