Is it possible to think of a mountain without the valley? If one can imagine God and the world, one cannot, for example, imagine God without the world: what comes to mind, from A to Z, often seems more real than what is merely irritating before our eyes. Once, mountains were mountains, and valleys were valleys. Since there are more things between the ground and the ridge than we can dream of, mountains are neither mountains nor abysses abysses: what blooms for us may also be a blooming valley. In all silence, sounds call out to each other, barely perceptible yet, deep from within and below. In night watch, in language, the intervals swell, always a second voice joins the first, then another, and then more and more: like an echo that savors the open through the repetition of limitation, but encounters less and less reality. In Oswald Egger's Val di Non, one will wander fabulously.