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Late autumn turns to winter. You are the last guest in an otherwise empty hotel where generations of mountaineers and mountain-lovers have slept. Perhaps tomorrow, the place will be inaccessible for a whole half year due to snow. The distant din of the first winter windstorm can be heard beyond the window. Weeks have passed in the high mountains, far from the world, and slowly you gain awareness of the Great order. The wind strengthens, resonances can be heard. Your auditorium is your bed, your orchestra, nature, increasingly you unite with the tones which gradually send you to sleep. P.S. I thought of YOU - ALL OF YOU