"Like Other Breaths..."

 

"Across the scraped stone we walk, headlamps floating through suspended mists like other breaths, the breaths of everyone who has come this way before, walking in the predawn darkness, towards a ghostly cone. Our lights reveal only ten meters, the rise and turn of the rock, and we follow it toward the glacier... A faint radiance seems to rise off the snow, as if the ice is transmitting the light that has fallen on it for years, melting the glow off at night in a beckoning incandescence. The dark peaks crouch.. front and centre, gradually rising...".  J. Auld