It may often be said that one can hear the silence. It is of course a contradiction in terms but I heard the silence only a few days ago; I stood in the quiet of that part of the valley known as La Couttetaz and listened as the silence was enveloped in the low cloud slowly and quietly building around the summit and higher slopes of the Dent d'Oche.
The fresh snow was deep, and crisp, and even; once broken, only by the tracks before me as they disappeared towards the lower branches of a line of snow laden pines.
Deer tracks. Made quietly, before we arrived and disturbed the peace with our breathing panting and puffing, a little heavier than usual caused by the upward climb and the packs we carried with just water, a few biscuits, some fruit and protective wear against bad weather.
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