Page 16
- The phenomenon is well known since antiquity but unfortunately very few mediated. And yet, it is of great simplicity: A Lotus is a flower that fleet.
- And the fish? Wondered liked.
- The fish, although there are many species including a knows fly, this are all, without exception, of the petals of the lotus who know how to swim...
Also sad the Mont-Joly, which seems nu without its white coat.
The pastures are still green, sometimes mottled white under the snow cannons. The man wanted to tame nature, but he well understood that this year it was unnecessary to empty the lakes to cultivate the white gold. The temperature is changing too, and there is no sub-layer. The anticyclone which is installed since several weeks n brings no precipitation, and abundant snow of November is more than a remembrance.
It is the expectation. They all hope.
The owners who are languishing with their stock of skis prepared for the season who does not want to start, the small restaurants of altitude which expect to infinity the hypothetical Walker to default hordes of skiers, seasonal workers who cannot work and have no wage...
The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops.
I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ. Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama. I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe. The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière... At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden - The phenomenon is well known since antiquity but unfortunately very few mediated. And yet, it is of great simplicity: A Lotus is a flower that fleet. - And the fish? Wondered liked. - The fish, although there are many species including a knows fly, this are all, without exception, of the petals of the lotus who know how to swim... Also sad the Mont-Joly, which seems nu without its white coat.
The pastures are still green, sometimes mottled white under the snow cannons. The man wanted to tame nature, but he well understood that this year it was unnecessary to empty the lakes to cultivate the white gold. The temperature is changing too, and there is no sub-layer. The anticyclone which is installed since several weeks n brings no precipitation, and abundant snow of November is more than a remembrance. It is the expectation. They all hope. The owners who are languishing with their stock of skis prepared for the season who does not want to start, the small restaurants of altitude which expect to infinity the hypothetical Walker to default hordes of skiers, seasonal workers who cannot work and have no wage... The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops. I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ. Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama. I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe.
The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière... At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden - The phenomenon is well known since antiquity but unfortunately very few mediated. And yet, it is of great simplicity: A Lotus is a flower that fleet. - And the fish? Wondered liked. - The fish, although there are many species including a knows fly, this are all, without exception, of the petals of the lotus who know how to swim... Also sad the Mont-Joly, which seems nu without its white coat. The pastures are still green, sometimes mottled white under the snow cannons. The man wanted to tame nature, but he well understood that this year it was unnecessary to empty the lakes to cultivate the white gold. The temperature is changing too, and there is no sub-layer. The anticyclone which is installed since several weeks n brings no precipitation, and abundant snow of November is more than a remembrance.
It is the expectation. They all hope. The owners who are languishing with their stock of skis prepared for the season who does not want to start, the small restaurants of altitude which expect to infinity the hypothetical Walker to default hordes of skiers, seasonal workers who cannot work and have no wage... The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops. I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ. Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama. I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe.
The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière... At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden - The phenomenon is well known since antiquity but unfortunately very few mediated. And yet, it is of great simplicity: A Lotus is a flower that fleet. - And the fish? Wondered liked.
- The fish, although there are many species including a knows fly, this are all, without exception, of the petals of the lotus who know how to swim... Also sad the Mont-Joly, which seems nu without its white coat. The pastures are still green, sometimes mottled white under the snow cannons. The man wanted to tame nature, but he well understood that this year it was unnecessary to empty the lakes to cultivate the white gold. The temperature is changing too, and there is no sub-layer. The anticyclone which is installed since several weeks n brings no precipitation, and abundant snow of November is more than a remembrance. It is the expectation. They all hope. The owners who are languishing with their stock of skis prepared for the season who does not want to start, the small restaurants of altitude which expect to infinity the hypothetical Walker to default hordes of skiers, seasonal workers who cannot work and have no wage... The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops. I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ. Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama.
I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe. The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière...
At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden - The phenomenon is well known since antiquity but unfortunately very few mediated. And yet, it is of great simplicity: A Lotus is a flower that fleet. - And the fish? Wondered liked. - The fish, although there are many species including a knows fly, this are all, without exception, of the petals of the lotus who know how to swim... Also sad the Mont-Joly, which seems nu without its white coat. The pastures are still green, sometimes mottled white under the snow cannons. The man wanted to tame nature, but he well understood that this year it was unnecessary to empty the lakes to cultivate the white gold. The temperature is changing too, and there is no sub-layer. The anticyclone which is installed since several weeks n brings no precipitation, and abundant snow of November is more than a remembrance. It is the expectation. They all hope. The owners who are languishing with their stock of skis prepared for the season who does not want to start, the small restaurants of altitude which expect to infinity the hypothetical Walker to default hordes of skiers, seasonal workers who cannot work and have no wage... The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops. I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ.
Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama. I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe. The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière... At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden
The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops.
I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ. Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama. I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe. The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière... At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden - The phenomenon is well known since antiquity but unfortunately very few mediated. And yet, it is of great simplicity: A Lotus is a flower that fleet. - And the fish? Wondered liked. - The fish, although there are many species including a knows fly, this are all, without exception, of the petals of the lotus who know how to swim... Also sad the Mont-Joly, which seems nu without its white coat.
The pastures are still green, sometimes mottled white under the snow cannons. The man wanted to tame nature, but he well understood that this year it was unnecessary to empty the lakes to cultivate the white gold. The temperature is changing too, and there is no sub-layer. The anticyclone which is installed since several weeks n brings no precipitation, and abundant snow of November is more than a remembrance. It is the expectation. They all hope. The owners who are languishing with their stock of skis prepared for the season who does not want to start, the small restaurants of altitude which expect to infinity the hypothetical Walker to default hordes of skiers, seasonal workers who cannot work and have no wage... The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops. I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ. Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama. I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe.
The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière... At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden - The phenomenon is well known since antiquity but unfortunately very few mediated. And yet, it is of great simplicity: A Lotus is a flower that fleet. - And the fish? Wondered liked. - The fish, although there are many species including a knows fly, this are all, without exception, of the petals of the lotus who know how to swim... Also sad the Mont-Joly, which seems nu without its white coat. The pastures are still green, sometimes mottled white under the snow cannons. The man wanted to tame nature, but he well understood that this year it was unnecessary to empty the lakes to cultivate the white gold. The temperature is changing too, and there is no sub-layer. The anticyclone which is installed since several weeks n brings no precipitation, and abundant snow of November is more than a remembrance.
It is the expectation. They all hope. The owners who are languishing with their stock of skis prepared for the season who does not want to start, the small restaurants of altitude which expect to infinity the hypothetical Walker to default hordes of skiers, seasonal workers who cannot work and have no wage... The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops. I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ. Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama. I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe.
The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière... At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden - The phenomenon is well known since antiquity but unfortunately very few mediated. And yet, it is of great simplicity: A Lotus is a flower that fleet. - And the fish? Wondered liked.
- The fish, although there are many species including a knows fly, this are all, without exception, of the petals of the lotus who know how to swim... Also sad the Mont-Joly, which seems nu without its white coat. The pastures are still green, sometimes mottled white under the snow cannons. The man wanted to tame nature, but he well understood that this year it was unnecessary to empty the lakes to cultivate the white gold. The temperature is changing too, and there is no sub-layer. The anticyclone which is installed since several weeks n brings no precipitation, and abundant snow of November is more than a remembrance. It is the expectation. They all hope. The owners who are languishing with their stock of skis prepared for the season who does not want to start, the small restaurants of altitude which expect to infinity the hypothetical Walker to default hordes of skiers, seasonal workers who cannot work and have no wage... The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops. I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ. Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama.
I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe. The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière...
At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden - The phenomenon is well known since antiquity but unfortunately very few mediated. And yet, it is of great simplicity: A Lotus is a flower that fleet. - And the fish? Wondered liked. - The fish, although there are many species including a knows fly, this are all, without exception, of the petals of the lotus who know how to swim... Also sad the Mont-Joly, which seems nu without its white coat. The pastures are still green, sometimes mottled white under the snow cannons. The man wanted to tame nature, but he well understood that this year it was unnecessary to empty the lakes to cultivate the white gold. The temperature is changing too, and there is no sub-layer. The anticyclone which is installed since several weeks n brings no precipitation, and abundant snow of November is more than a remembrance. It is the expectation. They all hope. The owners who are languishing with their stock of skis prepared for the season who does not want to start, the small restaurants of altitude which expect to infinity the hypothetical Walker to default hordes of skiers, seasonal workers who cannot work and have no wage... The station is deserted. The tourists cancel. The Furnished flats Gray are mine, as is gray the snow of altitude. From my window, I can see that the global warming a long time. The glaciers of the Bionnassay and Miage have declined markedly over the years. The Tramway du Mont-Blanc will soon be able to fit up to its highest station even in winter, at the foot of the Bionnassay. This low attendance gives back to the mountain its quietness. Suspended Time which invites to the meditation. Time to take the time to make a walk in the mountain pastures, repeat walk in climbing" in not of the donkey" the brown slopes of this grass of winter. Of hours to assemble today what usually in this season it rushes down on the planks in a few minutes. Of the Bettex to Communailles, then straight to the Cross of Christ. In passing in the sub-wood, it seems to me to hear songs of birds. How is this possible? I had to dream. The birds do not sing in mountain a twenty three December. They are the parties far toward a climate more Clément, or are huddled in their nests, freeze in the cold... I Monte peacefully the slope all my dreams. Want, that is already among Ernestine. A small stop, a few exchanges to take company to the Chef. Isabelle is not there? It will arrive later. It is sure, it does not activate a lot in room. The poor is bored, ready to turn on its lights, activate its bowls to make a solid meal of the Montagnard. This will be for another time, friend. Perhaps tomorrow. I leave toward the tree tops. I Monte in Devers, in trace direct to the gap in this massif fir, then meanders in the climb to the arrival of the chairlift of the Cross of Christ.
Fit up to the Summit of the Joly. It was the initial goal, but more top, residues of snow are more numerous and frozen, the steep slope and the slopes fatal. Not having that good hiking shoes but neither walking stick or spikes, I will change certainly route in function of what I would find. I am here to the cross. It is a splendid time. What panorama. I have beautiful the See all years, sometimes winter and summer when I have the leisure to return a few days in August, I do not weary. How could we get tired of this impregnable view on the roof of the Europe. The Mont-Blanc, majestic, standby on its children, all these mountains to the mythical names that have made the glory of Saint-Gervais and Chamonix, and are known to all the Montagnards. Has the Cross of Christ, to almost two miles meters, the sun darde its rays. It is not cold. It is good to leave his face caressed by this delicate bise of mountain, warmed by the grace of the solar star. On my right, my view is a little overshadowed the distant by the shoulder and the Joly. I leave running my gaze to this immensity Majestic. This panoramic-there, I know it by heart. I do not need my smartphone for the fix in my memory. I embrace of a slow movement the Domes de Miage , the needle Bionnassay, Mont-Blanc, the Dome of the taste of where I see the refuge make me winks with the reflections of the sun, the Aiguille du Midi, the needle of the Plan, the needle of the Blaitière... At the bottom, I apperçois The Communailles to where I began my ascent. More to the right, but invisible with the terrain and the massifs of fir, Saint-Nicolas of Véroce. And there, behind the bar from the Joly to needle Croche, this are the Contamines. Finally, I do will ascend not at the Joly. Equipped as I am, it would not be prudent. I then decides to make a loop in directing me to the Mont-Joux, then descend and passing near from the aunt and continue, by cutting the Michel Dujon, for catching the Chateluy which I will bring to the Bettex. And on the path, in the calming silence of this nature which begins his sleep of winter, I suddenly hear. All up there at the top of this large fir tree, perched on the small branch of the ridge, barely visible so it is small, but giving any her ardour to tear this silence, sings the bird of winter. All children are impatient: It is at the same time as the positivism think power to "get rid" of nature and its vagaries that Carl Gustav Jung, as a result of Freud, the rediscovered within same of the psyche in the form of "the unconscious". At the same time, the industrial revolution has such consequences for the environment, that in the middle of the nineteenth century, some European countries such as England, Germany or Sweden
Published on Wednesday, December 27 2017 by kamel ouati