Interseason. Waiting
Chamonix feels odd at the end of the season. Everyone’s waiting for something. The end of a job, the closing of a restaurant, a flight to somewhere warm. The snow. There’s a series of parties as people let their hair down after working hard over the summer.
I’m waiting for something too, but I don’t exactly know what it is. Good weather, obviously so that I can do my solo flights and finish my parapente course, but something else too.
It’s been a struggle to get all the little ducks in a row, but in a row they are. Maybe I’m just waiting for the right mood to knock ‘em all down.
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