Nothing mysterious — just two nearly identical peaks beneath a single veil of cloud.
You climb higher — and suddenly realize you’re not above the earth, but almost in the sky. The clouds aren’t overhead; they’re right beside you: stretch out your hand, and you could almost push them aside. The sun is somewhere behind that gray veil, yet its rays still find their way through. They pull the mountain ridges out of the mist and turn the winter landscape into a stark black-and-white composition.
Of course, they’re not true twins. This ridge stretches for twenty kilometers and is made up of countless peaks. It’s just that at that moment, two of them — the brightest ones, lit through gaps in the clouds — happened to fall into my frame. The rest of the range stayed almost entirely out of sight, hidden in fog.
The neighboring valley caught the light too, but winter light is harsh — it only outlines the shapes.
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