Here we are, plunged into 2016, scrutinising the clouds or with mouths opened wide to seize a snowflake in mid-flight. The spell of the passage into the new year was not at all the same on the different continents. In Chamonix, contrary to the American north-west, the festivities were not held amidst snow-flakes and nobody expected Father Christmas to have such a stony path to descend. Whereas Bird sent us smiley photos of the powder in North Cascade, Compagnet, at his wit’s end, musing in his beard about trips to other winters.
It was good, the Winter Unlimited ball at the foot of the Grands Montets, such an incantatory dance dedicated to the spirits of heavens. Who knows if the latter wrapped in their Ninos, eventually listened to the musicians Synapson and Kosme and to the hammering feet of the dancers. Any rate, one morning, it was there, pearly and swollen with spreading petals, plunging the mountains into a deep sleep and exciting the town. Lights lit the windows, birds returned to their nests and the riders sharpened their gliding machines. The town suddenly tooks on the pale colourlessness of the storm.
Snow is a mystery. One can analyse its crystals from every angle but their associations, escape us. The magic in the way it lands, the magic of its lightness and weight, the magic of its silence, all this mystery plunges us into the most delicate perplexities. Unstable, ephemeral, fixed and eternal, it continually changes the form of things. With the finesse of a sculptor, it shapes the world differently each day. Entering the year under the sign of the new (« nine » has the same spelling as « new » in French), hoping that the weather conditions are underway for an opulent winter. For our part, we wish to sign this great new work of your tracks.
2016, for a year of pleasure
And, friends, watch out for the risk of avalanches.