the emerald hue of algal blooms in glacial lakes. the almost neon glow of the intangible colour that sunlight casts on snow capped mountains towering above. a shade of orange, coral and pink that simply cannot exist in any other form. the way that light only hits certain parts of the mountain, leaving the rest in the afterglow of a shadow.

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brilliant white precarious formations of snow balancing on the branches of pine trees, with dark green needles forcing their way through their blanket. an anthracite grey road twists and weaves though the sea of these trees, separated by small patches of crisp virgin snow. roads leading deep into endless tunnels, to open back out again amist the line of altitude at which the ice forms and snow settles above, but below is green and thriving. an eerie grey ring of cloud sits upon this line, to mark the territory of where one can live, and where it is uninhabitable. long, thin waterfalls crashing down on the rocks below, the sound of shattering ice as this almost frozen water continues on its journey to the lakes below.

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houses dot the landscape, some roadside and some far far away, with plumes of smoke hanging, suspended in the air as the cold prevents it from escaping. the odd twinkling yellow light through windows of chalets hidden deep between the hillocks of the land. the buildings themselves telling stories by their tones of aging wood, the top being darker, older. the bottom, more a caramel shade where the inhabitants have piled up snow which in time has melted, cleaning the wood - only to fall again the following week. perfect pitched rooves with red painted decoration, folkloric carvings of deer, bears and birds standing proudly outside. festive lights strung up around the trees, illuminated by the iridescent white around them. farmhouses, with ornate balconies and looming verandas, the piercing sound of of cowbells in the distance breaking an otherwise utterly silent landscape.