blanc

back home she looked through the photos of the road trip and wished she had stopped in that curve after all, on the day of the Glandon crossing, the day that was covered with a sky as liquid as water, with a lingering view to the peek of the Mont Blanc at the edge of the horizon. the first time she looked, the peek wasn't there, then it appeared and disappeared again, as if the mountain was moving through dimensions, together with the flock of sheep that was herded by an old man first, and later reappeared, guided by a female shepherd who stood not far from the road, like an illusion, like the guardian of a scene too precious to disturb.
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