White Silence

We drove up from Annecy one morning, chasing a sky that seemed to rise with every curve of the road. From the summit of the Aiguille du Midi, the air felt thinner — not just in altitude, but in presence. Words disappeared. Everything softened into light, snow, and distance.

Far below, like moving dots on a blank canvas, a few climbers made their way across the ridge. Tiny, fragile, determined.

This series is not about conquest. It’s about presence. About standing still and witnessing a silence so complete, it feels like listening.