We're at Engelberg above Lucern in the Swiss Alps. The mountains here make the walls of Yosemite look timid. Again, there is Mother Nature's chandelier dimmer instead of a sunset, but here tonight was a neat evening treat: the clouds by the horizon (I guess it is a horizon, even if it is so up) become shot through and bordered by tremendous streaks as the sun goes down. I think my bring impressed by mountain views is handicapped by a history of camping - to me once scene today of a branch of the Thames, a stony, active boork, wide with yellow and white as rocks and water and sunlight had sport, was much more beautiful than the granite wonders around me - but the clouds and mountains and streaks of light and dark was something special.

I've written eight postcards today. The scenery along the bus ride was quite often stunning, but writing was good to do along with thoughts of "but thank God it's not snowing."

Just so you know, the stores here sell more varieties of chocolate than I can fathom. Wall displays. Plural. I'll never get through them all in two days.

This evening Pop-Pop and I went for a walk around town. A young boy and girl were playing at a faucet-fountain. When I walked close by, he put his finger under the faucet and shot me with the spray. I pretended to be knocked back, then glared poutingly at him while I cleaned my glasses. He held his hands behind his back and with a straight back, bouncing gait, and wandering gaze ho-hummed his way from the fountain while she giggled.