A serene high-altitude lake lies cupped between snow-dusted peaks in the early hours of a clear autumn morning. The water is a perfect mirror of cobalt and turquoise, broken only by the soft V of a single drifting leaf. Along the shoreline, golden larch trees stand in silent ranks, their needles beginning to fall onto the dark volcanic sand. Behind the lake, a wall of granite climbs into thin blue air, its upper slopes still holding pockets of last winter’s snow that catch the rising sun and blaze pure white against the colder stone.
