The beginning of a new family tradition?

Yesterday the plateau was covered with a thick layer of low-lying fog, so we decided to go up into our local mountains for a better view. There is a short hike we like to take that leads to a lookout directly facing the Mont Blanc, with a long row of peaks ranging along both sides of it. The hike is not very steep, not very long – a real Sunday stroll for the Swiss among us.

I've been feeling better lately so thought I'd be up for it. A few steps along the trail and it was clear that a mistake had been made. Still, I soldiered on, trailing my better half like a loyal but overwhelmed puppy, stopping only, like any exhausted little dog would, for a good whine every now and then.

When we arrived at the lookout, the Alpine peaks were rising out of the sea of mist like a shortened but no less majestic version of themselves.

Not that I noticed.

that is a cliff edge.

Did this pathetic sight lead my sweet and loving husband to tenderly caress my forehead and squeeze drops of water into my mouth from the handkerchief gallantly pulled from his breast pocket and soaked in the nearest mountain stream? Well, if by that we mean "poke me pitilessly with a stick," then yes. And if by "stick" we mean "giant branch," then yes, even more so.


post-revival re-enactment.

Again, though, not that I noticed.

So it wasn't the most successful of outings. But knowing the reason why, how could we complain?