Auf hohem Felsen sie schläft,
Feuer umbrennt ihren Saal
‘On a high crag she sleeps/Fire burns round her home’:
Wagner, who at one time came to roost below a different neck of the Alps, might have approved the illusion here as the
setting sun cast flame on the Aiguille de Blatière in the Mont-Blanc range. There
was no need to take any of the hiking trails I’ve written about further down for this
view of the Aiguilles or needles of Chamonix; just as our salon in the town looked
directly out on to Mont-Blanc and the Glacier de Bosson beneath it, so the
kitchen window kept these spires in sight. There’s little more to add to this
intermezzo-post before the next chronicle of a walk – which will be on flatter territory - except
to wonder at how quickly the light could change on the Aiguilles. Here they are
on another, this time nearly cloudless, late evening
and exactly half an hour later.
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