Are we clouds? Drifting between insistence and disappearance, winter finds its sharpest voice atop Toaca Peak. The sun lowers itself like a tired monarch, and Romania unravels beneath a pall of vapor, valleys erased, borders annulled. What remains is altitude and doubt. A sea of clouds stretches to the rim of the world, an anesthetized ocean swallowing consequence, while the sky burns softly, as if embarrassed by its own beauty. Ceahlău has always been more than stone and elevation. Rising near