"Hello!"
A middle-aged couple, probably husband and wife, pass me by on their way to the valley from who knows where. Greeting whomever you meet is a custom on mountain trails. But I meet more and more people who are oblivious to this unwritten rule.
I'm not on a serious trek but the sunny Saturday has lured me out like so many others. I've been walking uphill for over half an hour, partly past huge limestone boulders, partly through a forest and most of the time accompanied by the sound of water trickling down the steep slopes, gathering in small pools, cascading over the rocks. The snow is melting higher up the mountains and although it's still early February, there's a sense of spring in the air.
I walk at a steady pace, knowing my fitness is not what it used to be. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my breathing becoming faster but I carry on. There's still some ice on a puddle and a few patches of snow in a shady spot. But a few metres further up a sunlit slope is yellow with blossoming coltsfoot. The forest changes its nature. Deciduous trees with their still bare limbs give way to conifers, spruce in particular, but the mountains remain hidden. Finally I catch a glimpse of a snow-capped peak but it's time for me to return to the valley.
