“Come! Listen to me ice. Can you hear it pop? This has probably been the case for centuries and millennia. Winter has whitened the landscape, frozen nature in time, seems to have stopped time for a moment. But winter is not the time to stop. Our step stopped. The view is directed towards the whitewashed mountains, which tower majestically above us, their whitewashed beards flow into the lake, where the mountaineers water them, comb them and knot them again in the company of bare trees.”