As night fades into the light of dawn, the Lauteraarhorn slowly emerges from the mist, offering a striking image of a mountain that seems to emerge from a world above the clouds. In this sublime black-and-white panorama, the first flakes of autumn cover the mountain walls with a thin, icy film, accentuating its relief and tracing pure, silvery lines on its flanks. The storm has just passed, giving way to an atmosphere of renewed clarity: the sky clears, the low-angled light of daybreak catches the eastern faces of this colossus, revealing every asperity of the rock and the still-fresh snow.

At first glance, the Lauteraarhorn's vertical edges stand out like sharp blades. Fresh snow barely veils the crevasses on its slopes, remnants of the summer season. This encounter between immaculate white and the scars of summer reminds us of the fragility of the high mountains, subject to continual metamorphosis. A few clouds still linger, clinging to the ridges as if to delay the moment when the mountain fully reveals itself. We can make out the raucous breath of the wind, which, after having been unleashed, now caresses the mountain in a calmer, more solitary way.

In the background, the magic works just as well. The Mönch, the Jungfrau and the Fiescherhörn emerge from the fog, forming a silent chorus at the Lauteraarhorn. Like guardians of the BerneseOberland , they stand watch in the shadows, their summits bathed in the nascent rays. One by one, the peaks light up, as if dawn were deciding when to reveal the splendor of each summit. In this luminous dialogue, hues mingle: from the purest white to the deepest gray, the monochromatic palette perfectly embraces the majesty of this alpine scene.

I like to capture those fleeting moments when nature still oscillates between tumult and serenity. The remnants of the storm, perceptible in the mist that lingers at the bottom of the valley, are a reminder of how fragile harmony remains in the mountains. Yet the spectacle of this rebirth is breathtaking: the fresh snow acts as a mirror, reflecting the sun's caresses and amplifying the verticality of the walls. Every cornice, every ridge seems transfigured, standing out from the sky as if ready to slide down into the valley.

In this portrait of the Lauteraarhorn, we sense the full power of the Alps: a universe where rock and ice intertwine in a permanent struggle. And yet, in the midst of this grandiose austerity, there is also an undeniable gentleness. The veil of clouds, gradually receding from the heights, adds a note of mystery: it envelops the mountain, protecting its summit, and conceding to the lens only a brief glimpse of its grandiose anatomy. It is in these subtle margins that the poetry of high altitude lies: where light sculpts the snow with delicate nuances, where shadow reveals the harshness of a still wild face.

The Lauteraarhorn, for example, stands as a sovereign, a proud testimony to the changing season. Under the effect of the first autumn snow, it takes on a new glow, while revealing the wounds and memories of summer. A rare and moving spectacle, captured during those precious minutes when the mountain gently catches its breath, emerging from the storm, to offer the world the dazzling image of perpetual rebirth.