In early February I went to a meeting in the charming snowy village of Les Diablerets, nestled in the Swiss Alps. I’m still busy sorting out the photos, but on the morning I was leaving I had a few moments to write some quick notes on my phone…

“I am a mountain village person. There is no other place that calls to me like a mountain village. This is my second time in Les Diablerets, a village (or small town) nestled in the Swiss Alps, and both times it has pained my heart to leave it. Snowy forests and majestic mountains cradling beautiful wooden chalets, a river running through the town. Every evening after the day’s seminars I go for a walk alone in the dark green fir tree forest blanketed in snow, music from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake and the Nutcracker seeming to emanate from the landscape, snow crystals crunching under my feet. Can’t we move here? I can’t imagine I could ever get tired of this beauty. We could have dogs and take them for walks along the snowy path by the river, like the local in his dark coat and hat who walks his dog there every day. We could live in a wooden house heated by a wood stove, with icicles hanging from the rooftops, hear the church bells chiming over the hills several times a day. Our kids could grow up running in the woods, riding on sleds in the winter snow, hiking the mountains in the summer, cross country skiing. Who needs the city, anyway?”