And today.. Salzburg.

The road is wide and straight, the car is tiny and silver. we drive until the forest thickens and the wide boughs of the pines are frosted in white, until a white plane meets a solid white sky and white rests on the steep clustering rooftops, straight close trunks fly past us, then white coated rooves in the folds of white hills, we are driving into a mass of frosted pine tips, mist, and brushstrokes.
We pass a flat mass of water, grey and still and faintly blue, the reflections white, so wide it is called the Bavarian Sea; in its centre the spire of a monastary among the brushlike bare trees, a place where only women lived in older times, the water's surface thick and wreathed in mist.
We drive, until the air thickens and blurs into the planes of snow, the trees are squinted vague shapes and before us is an indeterminate whiteness, the snowdrifts are heavy on the highway rails.


buried high above the opaque air is a forgotten sun.