What happens to us in those cold and breathless landscapes? Do they make us feel too grown-up or too tired? Or do we seek life in them using abrupt images from faraway? They flare, coming into sight and then disappearing, or glide in the clear moving air. It is thus that the unseeable and forgotten comes back to us. What is there in the mist? Perhaps our peculiarity, oddity, vision, and the questions that no one has dared to answer yet.
