We went up the mountain. The trees were dark green and brown, your cheeks were red, your eyes were blue — and the jacket, the jacket had bright orange zippers. But the snow was bright white and your hood was dark black.

And I took your picture without any colours and the zippers faded away and the green turned to grey and your skin turned to grey and your eyes, even your eyes, were grey — and yet everything was more colourful, more alive, more present.
You ran off to play some more and I stood there, looking at a moment already gone, a remembrance of things past on the back of my camera, and I thought to myself, I’ll keep this. I’ll put it on my wall, I’ll safeguard this moment, drained of colour but precisely therefore the exact opposite, I’ll look at you and you’ll look back, smiling, cold and wet, but very very happy.
We went up the mountain. Then we went down.
And yet we’ll never leave.