the alps
29 November 1998

I remember driving through the California desert on a moonless night, somewhat frightened by the presence of windmills lurking along the roadside, chameleons fading into the darkest night. This same fear washed over me while walking through the stone streets of Innsbruck, sure of silent monsters skulking in the background. I bravely walk on a small footbridge over the Inn River, turn my face upward, and stare into the beauty that colors my nightmare. Captivated by the moonlight dancing over snowcapped crests, I find I'm frightened no more.