Mahoma's Bridge, Aneto

The story behind it

I was down below, painting the landscape. They were up there, making their way across it. Between us, there was nothing but snow, wind and miles of mountains. And yet, even from a distance, I could clearly make out those tiny figures, almost swallowed by the blizzard, relying on one another as exhaustion began to set in. I don't think I'd ever truly understood what it means to admire someone in silence. Not when someone is trying to impress you or draw attention to themselves. But like this. Small. Far away. Vulnerable against an immense mountain. And I felt something strange. A kind of tenderness mixed with respect. Pride. And fear, too… I hope you make it back safely.